


black, black is love’s potion (take heed, take heed of the thorns)

by some_nights



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Abusive Parents, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Gore, F/F, Greendale, Hiram Lodge Being an Asshole, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Manipulative Relationship, No Smut, Not Canon Compliant, POV Alternating, Past Archie Andrews/Betty Cooper - Freeform, Past Archie Andrews/Veronica Lodge, Past Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones, Slow Burn, other characters (mentioned) - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:47:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 41,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27438310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/some_nights/pseuds/some_nights
Summary: “Daddy made a deal with the devil. Archie was the price.”Or: Hiram gains magic powers and the gang goes to hell to save their boy. A usual week in Riverdale.
Relationships: Alice Cooper/FP Jones II (Mentioned), Archie Andrews/Hiram Lodge (Implied), Archie Andrews/Jughead Jones, Betty Cooper/Veronica Lodge
Comments: 48
Kudos: 49





	1. his words were like wine as their fates intertwined

**Author's Note:**

> writing this chapter made my skin crawl have fun ♡
> 
> I want to thank my friend zaïn for [creating a playlist inspired by the concept behind this fic](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/24UeQVAWRoLKZ9RZHtfdVH?si=yw2Qt42fTWaxR_e7VLHTaA), the best writing soundtrack

Darkness had fallen over the town of Riverdale. Hiram was standing by his fireplace, letting the flames warm his body. He contemplated whether he should loosen his tie. Before any business meeting, it was important to set the tone. The problem was that Hiram was not sure which tone he wanted for the preceding one. He thought about the young man he was about to meet. This was not the first time the two of them would meet under the cover of darkness, but it might be the most important time. He shouldn’t look too put-together; a little disheveled, as if he was still in shock. So no tie. He needed to seem approachable, human. Not like the larger-than-life business man he actually was. He ran his hand through his hair once and was just undoing a few buttons on his shirt when the expected knock on the door came. Right on time. _Good boy._

“Come in.”

He adjusted his posture to look crestfallen, destitute, like a man who had just discovered he was not as strong as he’d thought himself to be.

“You wanted to see me, Mr Lodge?”

Hiram smiled. It amused him that, after all these years, after everything they had done together, all that he had put him through, the Andrews boy still refused to call him by his first name.

“Yes, Archie. Please, sit.”

Obediently, Archie took his usual seat. Hiram didn’t sit down yet. Instead, he looked into the flames as he said: “You know that I have enemies. Powerful enemies. I don’t like to admit it but some might be more powerful than I can handle.”

When he turned around, he had to take a moment to bask in Archie’s attention. It was always delicious to see him like this, alert, hanging on his every word. No one in the world looked at Hiram the way Archie Andrews did. He would miss that.

“I want to change that. I want to be able to protect not only myself but also the ones closest to me; the people I love, the _town_ I love. But...”

Now he fully turned towards the boy, away from the flames. “I cannot do it alone.”

It was always exhilarating to execute the moves he had planned, to have the beats go over flawlessly. He gleefully tasted the energy in this room, the tension as Archie waited if he would say anything more. He had trained him well. Archie knew exactly when it was time to speak and when it was time to listen.

Hiram sat down in the chair across from him, sighed again. Then he said, his voice almost pleading, filled with gravity: “I need your help, Archie.”

Even before he said anything, Hiram knew the words that would come out of Archie’s mouth. Some might call him “predictable” - Hiram prefered “reliable”. There was no one he could count on as much as Archie Andrews; he possessed a sense of loyalty unmatched by any other. Sometimes, Hiram was still surprised by what the boy would endure at his hand and yet always come back for more.

“Anything, Mr Lodge.”

Hiram’s next words had been carefully planned, more carefully than usual; he knew what he was about to say would sound insane. Anyone but Archie might laugh at his face and leave. But looking into those brown eyes, believing in Archie’s trust came easy to Hiram.

“What I am about to tell you might sound… fantastical. You might think that I cannot be serious. But I assure you that it is all very, very real. As you know I have long planned to extend my business to Greendale. In my research, I have stumbled upon a… rather unique problem. It appears that a certain group of people in the area have bound themselves to Satan and acquired the gift of witchcraft.”

Archie frowned. “Witchcraft, Sir?”

He sounded confused but that was not unusual. At least he wasn’t calling Hiram a lunatic. Good. Hiram relaxed.

“Yes. Magic. The possibility of me running into trouble with the witches when I conduct my business in Greendale is quite high. And their ways are not easily defeated with my usual methods. I have to expand, adapt. That’s where you come in.”

“What can I do?”

This took Hiram by surprise. He had been prepared for more questioning, a bit of a struggle before Archie was willing to accept that the world was wider than he’d previously assumed. It had taken Hiram a while to get used to the truth and he had never been narrow-minded when it came to the supernatural. Archie was truly magnificent.

“I have found a way to contact the devil. He is willing to grant me powers that would allow me to defend Riverdale, my family, and myself. As expected, though, he demands a price.”

Hiram leaned forward. He needed closeness for the next part. Intimacy. He lowered his voice as he entreated: “Archie, if I am to have the ability to protect the town you love from anything that might seek to harm it, normal or paranormal… But no.” He leaned back in his chair and, seemingly defeated, sunk into himself. “I cannot ask this of you.”

One beat of silence, two. Archie was still waiting and Hiram was delighted. “I’ll call our driver to get you home. This is too high a price to pay. I apologise for wasting your time.”

Hiram buried his head in his hand.

“With all due respect, Sir”, Archie said. “But I think that’s my call to make.”

Hiram smiled, obscured by darkness. He knew he had him now; whatever he asked of Archie at this moment, the young man would do it.

“I don’t expect you to say yes”, he said. Then, he asked the impossible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> now what could hiram POSSIBLY have asked of Archie...... you're going to have to wait for the next chapter to find out. I want to thank my girlfriend for talking me into writing this and I want to thank supernatural for making destiel canon in the funniest possible way. also thank you for reading this. if you've got something to say please leave a comment, kudos are also very nice.


	2. count your missing sheep

“I got it!”, Betty called through the house before taking up the phone. “Hello?”

“Betty? It’s Mary Andrews. Have you seen Archie recently? He was supposed to come over for dinner last night and now he’s not picking up his phone, I’m getting worried.”

Betty furrowed her brows. She couldn’t say this was unlike Archie but it was not like him either. He didn’t unnecessarily worry people. Usually, when he went off on one of his reckless missions he at least took precautions so no one would be too worried. Something must have happened. Something big.

“I’m sorry, Mrs Andrews”, she said. “I haven’t seen him in a while but I can ask around and check the town if you want?”

“Oh could you do that? Thank you, Betty. I just want to stay here, in case he…”

Even though she knew Mrs Andrews couldn’t see her, Betty nodded.

“I understand. I’m sure it’s nothing.”

They both knew she was lying.

“Yeah, probably nothing”, Mrs Andrews replied.

After Mrs Andrew hung up, Betty made another call. She knew she couldn't do this alone; she needed someone to keep her head in the game, to keep her from spiraling over all the terrible possibilities. So she called Jughead because there was no one better to investigate a mystery with than her step brother and ex boyfriend.

“When’s the last time you saw him?”, he asked once he was home.

Betty took out her calendar to check for the third time since Mary’s call. “We went hiking two weeks ago and he seemed fine but you know how fast he can get wrapped up in stuff.”

“You hike?”

“That’s really not the issue here, Jug.”

“Sorry, just… took me by surprise, that’s all.”

Betty sighed. It was still hard, sometimes, navigating the waters of their relationship. Barely talking to each other for more than a year had left them struggling to recognise the new person wearing the face of someone they'd known so well.

“It helps me clear my head. And it’s fun.”

“Huh.”

“So, when did you see him last?”, Betty asked to get them back on track.

“Not in the last few weeks.”

She waited.

“We haven’t really… talked much since… you know.”

 _Since I found out the two of you were sleeping together and it broke me. And it broke_ us. _It broke all of us._ He didn’t have to say it. She did know. She cleared her throat. No time for guilt right now.

“Let’s check the community center first and ask around there. Maybe they know where he’s gone.”

They did not. Nobody had seen Archie in about a week. It saddened Betty to think that it took a week for anyone to miss him enough to actually start a search. Archie deserved better than that. Next, Betty and Jughead decided to look through the alleys on Archie’s commute. Betty expected the worst but besides a few fizzleheads and jingle jangle junkies, they didn’t find anything.

“At least he hasn’t been stabbed in a back alley because he attempted to stop a robbery or something”, Jughead said. It made her uncomfortable that he could still vocalise her thoughts with such ease. Everything had changed between them, they had changed; and yet, he was as familiar to her as ever. He was Jug, her friend. They might not be Bughead anymore but they were still one hell of a team. And that bothered her.

“I should mobilise the serpents”, he said when she didn’t react. “Cover more ground. If he is somewhere in Riverdale, we’ll find him.”

Betty nodded, chasing her dark thoughts away. “I’ll keep asking around. Let’s reconvene tomorrow during our family dinner.”

“Sounds good”, Jughead said. Betty noticed that he seemed smaller than usual, standing there with slumped shoulders. Heavy lies the head that holds the serpent crown, especially if it is the head of a lonely king.

* * *

“You know, Betty”, Alice said during dinner. ““I think it’s wonderful that you have volunteered to help find the Andrews boy but don’t let that keep you from your work, alright, honey?”

Betty rolled her eyes. “It’s fine, mom, I won’t let the search for my missing best friend get in the way of my shitty summer job.”

“Elizabeth!”

Charles chuckled and FP shot her a conspicuous grin. Even though her mom sometimes fell back into her old patterns, Betty didn’t mind that much because now, she wasn’t alone anymore. She often had FP on her side and in the rare case that her mother and her stepdad already agreed on one of her wild imaginations, Charles was easy to convince that Betty was in the right. There was also always Jellybean. It made the whole ordeal more entertaining, more balanced. She finally had a family that accepted her choices and her autonomy and was ready to defend both.

“You’ve got experience with missing person cases, right, Charles? Any hot tips you can give us?”, she asked.

Her brother shrugged. “Well, Betty, you know the most important investigative methods already. But”, he turned to look at Jughead as well, “since you’re so close to the missing person you have to examine whether you’re really following _all_ the leads.”

There was a lead they had been avoiding; they hadn't talked about it and Jughead hadn't asked about her when they'd talked about their fruitless search before dinner. Questioning her was inevitable; given Archie's intense conncetion with her family, asking this source would probably lead to the first breakthrough in this investigation. And yet, Betty was afraid. Last time they'd talked it hadn't gone all too well. One look at Jug told her that, like her, he knew what they had to do. For Archie.

* * *

“Hi, V”, Betty said. Veronica looked incredible, as always. She’d dressed a little above her age during their high school days. There had never been a problem with her pulling the look off, but now that she had grown into it her presence was even more captivating. Her countenance was ice cold but Betty counted it as a win that she had not slammed the door in their faces yet. “It’s been a while.”

Veronica stayed silent. Betty could feel Jughead’s discomfort. Or maybe it was just her own. She wanted to squirm under those brown eyes that seemed to bear down into her soul. Instead, she said: “Anyway, we wanted to ask you… has Archie been by recently? He didn’t come to dinner a few days ago, his mom’s worried.”

“I haven’t seen him”, Veronica said. “Would that be all?”

Betty had thought about this moment so many times, imagined what she would say to Veronica if she just had the chance, how she could try to make her understand that their friendship meant more to her than any guy ever could, that her biggest regret in all that had happened was that she had lost Veronica, that she still missed her best friend every single day. Her heart ached. But the pain she felt, the pain she’d caused - all of it was irrelevant. She was here for Archie.

“No, actually.” She took a deep breath. “We have a favour to ask. Could you… maybe ask your dad about him? I feel like he’d be more forthcoming towards you than either of us.”

Veronica laughed humorlessly. “We’re not on speaking terms. You should know that, actually. Your mom’s farce of a newspaper wrote a truly delightful piece on it a few weeks ago.”

Shame overcame Betty and she blushed. She still remembered the fight her and Alice had gotten into over that one. “And here I thought you had escaped this town’s venal ways”, she'd said. Alice had denied that the Hiram Lodge interview had anything to do with the new software update the register could suddenly afford. Dinner had been very quiet for a few days.

“Veronica, please”, Jughead chimed in. “This is about Archie. I know he hurt you but… would you be able to forgive yourself if you were the reason he wasn’t found?”

Betty held her breath as Veronica stood without a word.

“Please remove yourselves from my property”, she said and closed the door. All in all, this had still gone better than expected. Betty had to believe that Veronica would at least think about talking to her father. If there was any trace left of the person she used to be... she would.

* * *

Veronica was seething, filled to the brim with hatred. How dare she. How dare Betty just turn up like that after a year and a half, looking all sad and pathetic! And Archie! How was he _still_ stupid enough to fall for daddy's little schemes? Hiram Lodge was responsible for every single misery in Veronica’s life not brought on by Betty and Archie so he was definitely responsible for this as well. Above everything, though, she was enraged that she was on her way to the Pembrook right now. She hated her weak little heart that was still hung up on those who had betrayed her in the most vile way. As much as she despised her father, sometimes Veronica wished she was more like him, only seeing people as playing pieces for her own amusement. Instead, she _cared_ , she cared so much that it threatened to tear her apart. She’d wanted to invite Betty in with open arms despite everything she had done. What the hell was wrong with her.

Going back to her old home felt like a defeat. Last time she had been there she had sworn, irate, that the only time she’d enter the Pembrooke again was to spit on his rotting corpse. And now here she was, about to confront her father about the man who had broken her heart. Pathetic.

Hiram had redecorated since Hermione and Veronica had moved out. It was definitely still the house Veronica had spent some of her most formative years in but it felt less welcoming, strange. Her father was sitting at the new dining room table when she came in.

“ _Mija_! I didn’t expect to see you back here so soon. As you can see, I am not rotting yet.”

She wished he was.

“Cut the crap, daddy. Where’s Archie?”

Hiram raised an eyebrow. Of course he wouldn't make this easy.

“I don’t have the faintest idea what you are talking about, I haven’t seen the Andrews boy since the two of you broke up, what was it, one and a half years ago? If memory serves correctly.”

Veronica placed her purse on the table and sat down. This would take a while.

“Yes, and just last month your nice new butler told my housekeeper that ‘the redhead sure comes over a lot’ so please. I know it might be hard for you seeing as you are a true Iago but, daddy, just this once, could you spare me the dance?”

“But _mija_ … it’s so much fun!”

When Veronica gave no reply, Hiram sighed. “I’m going to have to fire that butler, it’s so hard to find good staff these days.”

Had he meant her to shiver inwardly when she heard the way he stressed “fired”? She didn’t give him the satisfaction; outwardly, she kept her composure; she had gotten good at that. She made a mental note to warn the butler on her way out, though.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, darling. Archie and I are… business partners. I call him when I need a job well-done. He’s reliable and doesn’t ask too many questions. Loyal people are a rare breed these days.”

Veronica prayed to God that she had her face under control. Inside her, a storm of emotion was raging. She was afraid her voice would betray her so she just stayed silent. Her father smiled and she knew she must have slipped.

“Also, he’s just fun to be around.” Hiram shrugged. “You know.”

She did not want to contemplate what these words might imply. Instead, she asked: “Do you know where Archie is, daddy?”

“That’s a complicated question and for an answer, you are going to have to expand your beliefs a little.”

What the fuck was that supposed to mean?

“Just say yes or no”, she said. She was getting a headache.

“You truly want to take all of the fun out of this, don’t you? Yes, I know where your ex boyfriend is. I had a job for him and he took it.”

“Do you know when he will be back?”

Hiram started laughing. Veronica had never seen her father laugh like that, his body almost convulsing. She stared in horror. He was still giggling when he said: “Oh Veronica. I’m afraid there’s no coming back from where I sent him.”

She wanted to leave. She hadn't wanted to come in the first place but now she wanted to crawl out of her skin and slither out the door and never leave her house again. She stayed.

“What?”

Her father had himself back under control. Veronica was glad. This was familiar. This she knew how to deal with.

“As I said, you are going to have to expand your beliefs a little”, he said, looking down onto his fingers as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

He was loving this. The power was in his hands, the conversation under his control, just the way he liked. Veronica wanted to strangle him. Instead, she smiled and said: “Oh dearest daddykins would you kindly expand my horizons, pretty pretty please?”

“There is no need for sass! As you know, I am always looking to expand my business. At the moment, I have my sight set on a town that is in the unique situation of counting powerful witches and warlocks among its inhabitants.”

It was Veronica’s turn to laugh now. Her father smiled but didn’t move a muscle beyond that. Under his unrepenting stare, Veronica’s laughter died in her throat.

“You cannot be serious”, she said, staring at him in disbelief. “Witches? Come on, daddy.”

Hiram sighed. “I knew you wouldn’t be as easy to convince as Archie. So small-minded. Yes, Veronica, witches. They have sworn allegiance to the Dark Lord and, in return, he grants them certain powers.”

“Powers?” It took all Veronica had not to laugh again. This was ridiculous. Her father couldn’t be serious, could he?

“Yes. Powers.”

Hiram flipped his wrist and Veronica couldn’t breathe. There was no more air in the room. She tried to gasp but there was nothing to gasp FOR. Hiram smiled as he saw his daughter desperately attempt to draw just a single breath. This was the first time he was trying out one of his tricks. He liked it. When Veronica's eyes started to flutter shut, he flipped his wrist again.

Veronica stared daggers into her father as she filled her lungs with oxygen once again.

“Do you believe me now?”, he asked as if he hadn’t just threatened her life.

She would not give him shock or tears or disbelief. He would not get anything from her. She accepted that her father was more dangerous now than he had ever been.

“Wh…” She had to cough a few times before she could speak again. “What does this have to do with Archie?”

“Haven’t you realised it yet? I truly thought I’d raised you to be smarter than this.”

Veronica despised him from the bottom of her heart. She thought over what he had told her. Magic. “The Dark Lord”. Allegiance. Her father would never "swear allegiance" without a way to get out of it which means he must have made a deal. Come to an agreement.

“No”, Veronica said.

Hiram smiled.

“No, not even _you_ could do that. I refuse to believe-”

But he could. She knew that he could. He would sacrifice anything, any _one_ , if it meant he could get more power. She felt sick.

“God.”

“No, _mija_. Satan.”

* * *

Once she was back in the safety of her own home, Veronica broke down and cried. Archie Andrews was in hell. He was bearing untold suffering. And it was all her father’s doing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my otp is hiram lodge x bullet through his heart ♡  
> anyway, I hope you liked this chapter! as before, comments and kudos are much appreciated. I don't know when chapter two will be uploaded but since I have a bachelor thesis I have to write probably not any time soon. Sorry for that. As soon as I've got the time, though, I will continue this because "Archie's in hell and also he's gay" is just too good of an idea to just let it die.


	3. bleed for a sinner

Even though she had not doubted Veronica, Betty was still surprised when she called the next day.

“I know where he is”, V said instead of a greeting. “Meet me at Pop’s in half an hour. Both of you.”

I’m sorry, was what Betty wanted to say, what she wanted to scream. “Alright”, she said instead.

Veronica hung up and Betty looked down at her outfit. Like most of what she wore, she’d basically just pulled clothes out of her closet. Now, though, that felt inadequate. Veronica would be dressed to the nines. Why shouldn’t Betty put a little effort in? Maybe this was a way of showing that she cared.

After changing her outfit more times than she’d like to admit, she went over to the guest room to get Jughead. Maybe it was time to call it his room, since he’d basically been living there since their breakup. Somehow, though, everyone still referred to it as the guest room, even Jug himself. Must be strange, she thought, feeling like a guest in your own home. Does he even see this as his home? She knocked.

They arrived at Pop's right on time and were greeted by a familiar picture: Veronica on their usual table, a drink in front of her. Even though the details were all wrong, even though so much had changed, Betty still couldn't help the images, thoughts, and feelings of the past. The four of them sitting in that nook, toasting with their milkshakes, many cares in the world but none of them mattered as long as they were together. And now one of them was missing. The way Veronica clung to her glass as if it was a lifeline made Betty fear the worst.

“So”, Jughead said after the silence across the table had stretched so long it was suffocating, “You said you know where Archie is.”

“Yes”, Veronica replied. She seemed less daunting than yesterday. Tired. The conversation with her father must have taken a lot out of her.

“Well? Are you gonna tell us or should we just keep sitting there?”

If Betty had been met with the gaze Veronica threw at Jughead, she would have crumbled. Jughead only defensively raised his hands.

“I’m sorry”, he said. “I just thought that’s what we're here for. But we can just continue wallowing in bittersweet memories in silence, if that's what you prefer.”

Veronica sighed and rubbed her forehead. “You’re right, Jughead. It’s just… somewhat difficult to talk about. You guys will think I’m crazy. Or that daddy fooled to me. I can assure you that neither is the case. I am sure that, for once in his noxious life, he told the truth.”

They waited for Veronica to continue. She stared into her empty glass, eyes unfocused, miles away. Betty wanted to reach across and take her hand, reassure her that, whatever happened, she and Jug were there for her. She was there for her. She couldn’t, though; not with everything that had happened.

Finally, Veronica took a shaky breath and asked: “Do you guys believe in magic?”

Jughead laughed. Betty didn’t. She sat there silently, waiting for him to calm down, remembering that fateful evening on her porch, oh so many years ago. The twins flowing above the flames. “Hallucinations”, they’d said. Well, part of Betty had never believed them. And now it seemed that part had been right. Magic was less of a reveal and more of a vindication.

Jughead was finally calm enough to say: “Magic? Are you serious? That’s not real.”

“I thought so too”, Veronica said, venom in her voice. “Until daddy managed to take all of the air from my lungs without even getting up from his chair.”

Oh God. Betty could almost see it, Veronica gasping for air, fearing for her life, uncertain if her father would ever grant her the privilege of breathing again, if this would be her end. Oh God.

“Are you sure you weren’t just panicking or—”

Betty placed a hand on her stepbrother's arm to stop him. “Jug”, she said and slightly shook her head. This was hard enough for Ronnie. No need to make it harder. “I’m so sorry, V”, Betty continued, turning to wards her. “That must have been…” She trailed off. ‘Horrible’ didn’t seem like the right word in this context.

“Yeah well”, Veronica said, staring down at her glass again. “It doesn’t matter.”

She shook her head as if to rid herself of all the unpleasantness and said: “Daddy made a deal with the devil. Archie was the price.”

Betty blinked. Magic had been easy to believe, she’d seen it in action herself. But the devil? That was a whole other league.

“So is he…” Jughead struggled to get the words out. “Is he… dead?”

The thought alone was too terrible for Betty to fully comprehend. Veronica, too, looked taken aback, as if the opportunity hadn’t even really occurred to her.

“I don’t really know what he is”, she said curtly. “I just know where he is.”

“You mean Archie’s…?”

Betty couldn’t say it. This was ridiculous.

Veronica smiled at her but there was no warmth in it. She’d never looked so much like a Lodge.

“Yes, Betty”, she said. “Sweet Archie is in hell.”

Jughead was the first to collect his thoughts enough to speak again: “Posing that this is true— I’m sorry, Veronica, I know you believe it but we all know how… persuasive your father can be. So, posing that this is true, that Archie Andrews has truly found himself clutched in Satan’s claws… How do we get him out?”

* * *

* * *

Jughead had not foreseen “dabbling in the dark arcane arts” in his future. Alas, life’s road took you down mysterious paths at times. He was still skeptical of Veronica’s tale of wonders but he gathered that if there was a chance it contained even a morsel of truth they should follow its tracks, especially since it was their only lead towards the whereabouts of Archie Andrews.

Betty had taken on the woeful task of informing Mrs Andrews of the progress in their investigation. While he was sure she wouldn’t divulge any details that made her sound insane, he was still worried. It was only natural, he supposed, for his thoughts to drift over to her while he pondered over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore. After all, he had loved her, once. Maybe he loved her still. He'd spent a year trying to forget her, trying to cut her out of his life. This proved difficult when their parents' marriage cemented their familial bond once and for all. He was unsure of where they stood now, in this new constellation.

He was torn from his contemplations by a rather peculiar passage in one of the tombs he was perusing. At once, he called a meeting of the “Get Archie Out of Satan’s Claws” squad.

* * *

“It says here”, he said, “that to summon the Dark Lord himself, we need blood. Possibly a human sacrifice. The description is very lyrical, so it’s hard to figure out the details.”

“I wouldn’t put a human sacrifice past daddy”, Veronica said. Jughead couldn't help but agree.

“Yes, but it is past us”, Betty replied. Killing people was always a sore subject for her.

“I wasn’t actually suggesting we kill someone. I was just saying—”

“Whatever the case may be”, Jughead said. Now was not the case to argue. “We definitely need blood and a full moon. Or a new moon. As I said, hard to figure out the details.”

“Well, if it’s a full moon we’re in luck, that one is in two days.”

Jughead nodded at Betty. “We have until then to find out whether we need a human sacrifice or not. I'll continue my research.”

“I'll see where I can get some blood. Human or is animal blood okay as well?”

Jughead read through the lines again. “I think animal blood should do, but better try to get some human blood too, just to be on the safe side. We don't want to make any mistakes.”

Betty nodded and went on her way, wherever she thought she might acquire human blood. Jughead could think of a few places but didn't want to know the details.

“Can I see the text?”, Veronica asked. Jughead was surprised on two accounts, one, that she spoke to him and two, that she wanted to try her hand at literary analysis. While she wasn’t illiterate, English class had not been her forte. She had by no means been bad but her analysis was sometimes a little amateur, lackluster.

Her hand was still stretched out and Jughead remembered her request.

“Yes, of course”, he said and handed her the copied pages.

Veronica put on a pair of reading glasses. Another surprise. After a while, she looked up and said: “Should have let a Catholic look over that before you made your declarations. We definitely don't need a human sacrifice, though we have to draw the sigil with blood. Also, we should definitely have holy water at hand, I’ll contact the Monsignore at once.”

“You’ve got him on speed-dial or something?”, Jughead joked. His attempt at humour fell flat, as Veronica just scoffed and went to make a phone call.

* * *

* * *

On the night of the full moon, they met in Dilton's bunker. It seemed like the best place to summon the devil. Now that Veronica was there, though, she realised that maybe returning to the place that held one of her most painful memories like this had been a mistake. The last time they'd all been here… Well, that had been the last time they'd ALL been anywhere for a while. Betty looked as uncomfortable as she felt. It gave Veronica a certain sense of satisfaction to see that she was not the only one suffering.

Jughead was all business as he went through the plan once again. That was his way to deal with the nerves.

“Alright, we've got the protection seal on the bunker door and the holy water sprayed on the floor in case our circle breaks. We've all got our salt, the blood, candles, our texts… Ladies, you know your texts?”

“For the millionth time, Jug”, Betty said, rolling her eyes, “Yes. We've all learned our Latin. Now stop fussing, it's almost midnight.”

Sometimes Veronica wondered how Betty could have dated Jughead for so long. In small doses, he was acceptable. If you stuck around him for too long, though, he became first irritating then infuriating. Fortunately, it was time to call on Satan.

At exactly three minutes to midnight, they began their incantation. The padre had given it to her. It was not part of the summoning, it was only supposed to offer protection. They poured the salt counter clockwise until they had the semblance of a circle. As the barrier closed, Veronica realised that they were dreadfully underprepared. They were just three normal people. About to summon one of the most powerful entities in the world. If they were successful, who knew what would happen. If they weren't… She was ashamed to admit that part of her would prefer that. But, she reasoned, if her father could do it so could she, especially with Betty and Jughead by her side.

They waited until the grandfather clock they'd brought into the bunker for this exact purpose struck midnight. Then, they drew the summoning sigil out of the blood Betty had brought. Veronica didn't know whether to be impressed that she'd managed to acquire three goblets of human blood in two days. She decided not to think about it too much.

Next came the hardest part. “Sacrifice”, the way it was used in the text, indicated selflessness, losing something, pain. While killing someone might give you those feelings, there were plenty other ways to invoke them. As Veronica understood it, the devil was a bit of a sadist and as long as he got his pain he would be happy. They each drank from their goblets and Veronica had to repress her gag reflex. Exchanging the goblet for lit candles, they laid bare their deepest fears and shames in Latin. Veronica was glad none of them actually spoke the language. In the past, she might have been willing to share these parts of her soul with Betty and Jughead. Not now, though. Not anymore.

She'd learned her text, not just the words but also the meaning. For this to work she had to feel the pain as the words left her mouth. The more she talked the more tangible it felt until tears were streaming down her face.

“Dark Lord, come forth and be fed by my fear, the darkness that lurks inside me”, they called. It was supposed to be in unison. Hopefully their pitiful attempt was enough.

Nothing happened. Veronica breathed a shaky sigh of relief. Maybe Jughead had been right. Maybe she had only imagined the way her throat closed up and—

She could not finish the thought. Darkness fell over the bunker, the candles flickering below their faces the only source of light. A wind blew strands of hair into her face. They were so in over their heads. What use were they to Archie if they were all dead, devoured by evil incarnate?

The wind stopped and in the middle of their circle stood a young man in a suit.

“This is cute”, he said after a while, gesturing around. “This whole get-up you got going on here. As if your parlour tricks could contain me.”

Veronica didn't know what the others had expected but she'd envisioned something… more. Someone who looked less human, more otherworldly. There was no doubt in her mind that this was the devil himself, though. After all, she of all people knew the evil of sharply dressed men.

“Lucifer”, Jughead said. “We have called you to bargain for Archie Andrew's soul.”

“First of all”, Satan said. “I prefer ‘Your Lordship’, _boy_. If you were one of my subjects I would have your tongue. If you dare to speak in my presence again I will, understood?”

Jughead nodded.

The worst part of this, Veronica decided, was how utterly bored he sounded, as if this was nothing more than a minor inconvenience. She supposed it was.

Betty opened her mouth but Veronica, painfully aware of the danger that even speaking to the devil held, could not let her talk. This was daddy's mess. She should be the one to sort it out.

“Your Lordship, I apologise for my friend's impertinence”, she said in her most charming cadence. “I hope you will forgive our disrespect in summoning you in this manner.”

“Hmmm”, Satan said and turned to look at her. “Silver tongue, impeccable style, and… I'm in Riverdale, if I'm not mistaken? You must be another Lodge.”

“I go by Luna, actually. But yes, I am the daughter of Hiram Lodge.”

“Oh, family drama, huh? Tell me about it. People who get along with their fathers are just not trustworthy, in my opinion. I mean, like, what’s wrong with you?”

Veronica laughed. She couldn't believe the devil had just made a joke. At least she thought it was a joke.

“Archie Andrews, you said?”, the devil asked. “Red-head, cute, gullible, hard to torture more than he's already torturing himself?”

“That's our man!” Veronica hoped she sounded more enthusiastic than deranged.

“Sorry, sweetheart. No can-do.”

“Is it my father, because whatever he's offering you—”

“Oh, that's a very dangerous bargain you're driving, Miss Luna. But no, it's not Hiram. Usually, I'm not opposed to double-dealing, but I am afraid that, in this particular case, I have… entangled myself somewhat.”

Veronica couldn't believe her father had actually outsmarted the devil. He was good but she refused to believe that he was that good. She knew of his hubris, she just had to find where he’d let it show this time.

“Could you maybe disclose the details of your agreement with my father, your Lordship? We might be able to help you get out of your entanglement.”

“You truly are your father's daughter, aren't you?”, the devil asked, amused.

Cold sweat ran down her back.

“Unfortunately, even a creature as powerful as myself” (A lesser being would have given a demonstration here, Veronica thought. But not the devil. For him, his power was a fact.) “...is bound by certain rules. As such, the details of our… agreement? That's what you called it? The details of our agreement are between Hiram and me.”

Veronica's spirits sunk. She would have to confront her father yet again.

“But”, Satan said. “I can tell you three things. First, I never make a deal I can't get out of. Second, free will is a fickle thing. And third… Hell is nice this time of year, maybe you should drop by sometime.”

Satan winked.

“Now if you would kindly release me so I don't have to break your spines…”

Betty hurried to mutter the words that undid the incantation and from one moment to the next, the devil was gone. With him, whatever had kept Veronica standing up straight and made her able to talk to the devil like he was just another business partner left as well. Trembling, she fell to her knees. She could hear Betty call her name but she was too dazed to respond. They had summoned the devil and survived. Not only that, none of them got hurt, at least not physically.

The preceding conversation ran through her mind as she was trying to make sense of it all. Two things stood out to here. Entanglement and free will. She had believed that her father had tricked Archie, dazzled him with lies until he'd found himself in hell. "I had a job for him and he took it.” No trickery. Hiram had just asked him. And Archie had said yes. Of course Veronica had been aware of her father’s pull on the young man who'd broken her heart, only a fool could overlook it; she just hadn't known it was this strong.

A gentle hand on her shoulder pulled her back into reality.

“V? Can you stand up?”

Veronica wanted to bury herself in Betty's arms. But she couldn't. Not with everything that had happened. She got up, dusted off her dress and nodded. No time for weakness.

“I guess we will have to look up how the fuck one gets into hell.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *john mulaney voice* veronica is a bitch and I love her SO much!  
> I thought it was about time I gave Jughead a POV part but turns out he's so pretentious that writing from his POV takes like twice as long as writing Betty or Veronica. Don't worry, though, there's more to come, I'm just a lesbian misandrist so I struggle writing men who aren't evil ♡  
> very big shoutout to my friend for [creating a playlist inspired by the concept behind this fic](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/24UeQVAWRoLKZ9RZHtfdVH?si=yw2Qt42fTWaxR_e7VLHTaA) that I'm now listening to on repeat.  
> I hope you're still on board for this train to (gay) hell. Comments and kudos keep me writing because I thrive off vindication and appreciation. Again, no promises for a next chapter any time soon because. I should be writing my thesis. But who knows.


	4. bruised in the rain

Jughead knew sleep was crucial for his body and mind to function but how could he sleep if only one hour ago he’d stood face to face with the devil. Strangely, he hadn’t been scared, not at first. He’d been led by righteous conviction and a surprising burst of confidence. All that had vanished, though, when Lucifer had turned his eyes towards him. Jughead had felt small, nothing more than a fly about to be squashed. The adrenaline of being threatened by Satan wouldn’t leave his body so he decided to use that energy. The library was closed at this hour but that didn’t mean he had no access to sources. He started by looking up Greendale. Veronica had told them about Hiram’s assumption; some of the inhabitants were witches and warlocks. If that was the case, though, there should be traces of that in the town’s history.

Reading was hard when his mind kept circling back to one thing Satan had said. _“Hard to torture more than he’s already torturing himself”_. He had been willfully ignoring the suffering Archie most likely had to endure. This became increasingly difficult. At some point he had to confront the fact that he was about to go to literal hell to save his childhood best friend who, in the meantime, was getting tortured by demons. _More than he’s already torturing himself_. Jughead hadn’t known Archie was that filled with self-loathing. He obviously knew about the hero complex, anybody who’d known Archie for more than five minutes knew about that. Somehow, though, Jughead had never questioned where it came from; never thought about the effects it could have on Archie’s mind to try and save as many people as possible in any given situation but failing because he went up against odds so much larger than himself.

Jughead sighed and closed his laptop. This was useless. He wouldn’t be able to get anything done tonight, not with the ongoing turmoil of his restless mind. Would it have helped if they had stayed in touch? If “ruined one of my oldest friendships by sleeping with my best friend’s girlfriend” hadn’t been on the list of things Archie thought himself to have done wrong? He knew that there was no use in dwelling on the what-ifs of the situation. And he was not about to blame himself for wanting space after being hurt. But. Not really talking to Archie for a year and a half had felt like he was missing a part of himself. Before that night, one of the fundamental truths of Jughead's life had been that Archie Andrews was his best friend. They had their ups and downs, of course, but Jughead had been certain that, whatever may happen, they would be part of each others' lives, there for each other. And then Archie had betrayed him in a way Jughead could not forgive. Consumed with rage, betrayal, Jughead had banished Archie from his side. Maybe forgiveness was not the point, though. He missed Archie, was tired of his own anger, tired of not having him in his life. The timing of this realisation was not optimal, given Archie's current whereabouts. But Jughead was going to hell to save Archie, to return Riverdale's protector, its shining beacon of hope, to his rightful place. To get his best friend back. With new determination, he continued his research. He couldn't afford to be bogged down by sinister thoughts; for Archie's sake, he would stay focused. He had to.

* * *

* * *

On her way home from the bunker, Veronica had decided that there was no time like the present. Her father definitely had some information on Greendale and their witches, maybe he even had some sources on how to get to hell, so breaking into his office was inevitable.

Getting into the Pembrooke was easy enough; her daddy had not yet switched the locks, even though it had been quite some time since Veronica had moved out, and even longer since Hermione had left. Maybe part of him still hoped that they would come back one day. Veronica scoffed. Well, he could dream on.

The office door wasn’t locked, almost like an invitation. Not much had changed inside. It made sense, she guessed. The rest of the apartment had always had traces of her mother, traces of herself; this room, though, had always been completely daddy’s. She went over to the bookshelf first. Not much new at a first glance. It would have been surprising if her father had displayed the information she needed so openly but not unheard of. He was nothing if not cocky. She went over to the desk. The documents on top of it were very interesting but not for the matter at hand. She had to focus on Greendale. Witches. The devil.

She didn’t flinch when her father turned on the light.

“And what exactly do you think you are doing here, Ronnie?”, Hiram asked.

Veronica kept rummaging through the desk drawers as she said: “Oh, isn’t it obvious? I’m investigating you.”

“By breaking and entering?”

“Is it really ‘breaking and entering’ if you’ve got a key?”

She looked up and saw Hiram wearing his morning robe; she’d never noticed how ridiculous it made him look. This was the man who had “entangled” the devil. The man who’d sent her ex to hell, literally. And he looked like a pompous clown.

“I should really change those locks”, he muttered and went over to the bar. “Do you want a drink?”

“It’s three in the morning.”

“And?”

She shouldn’t say yes. But after the night she’d had, a bit of alcohol might do her good.

“Why not”, she said. Her father smiled. He thought he was in control here. That he was untouchable. To a certain degree he was, she supposed. He could just kill her with a flick of his wrist. He wouldn’t, though, she was pretty sure of that. If her father wanted her dead she would no longer be standing. No, Hiram enjoyed the game; he enjoyed defeating his opponents again and again and again. And if that opponent happened to be his own daughter, well, it was only all the more fun. She wished her past self had seen that; had realised that everything, all of it, was nothing but a game to him. To beat him, you had to know the rules and make him think you played by them.

He put a glass of whiskey on the rocks onto the desk and went to sit down in his favourite armchair. How Veronica had longed to sit across him for so long! Now, she couldn’t care less. She was through the first two drawers when Hiram spoke again.

“I have no clue what you’re looking for but you won’t find it in there, you know.”

“Whatever you say, daddy.”

He was probably telling the truth. He wouldn’t make valuable information available for common thiefs. Even though she knew it was fruitless, Veronica kept looking through the drawers. Playing the game.

“What _are_ you looking for anyway?”, he asked when she was done with the next two.

“Well, daddykins, a little birdie told me that my ex boyfriend is in hell because my greedy father can’t keep his hands off a town inhabited by witches and warlocks.”

Hiram smiled, amused. “I don’t think I’ve ever been called a birdie. So you’re looking for a way to get in touch with the Dark Lord? To bargain for Archie’s soul?”

His mocking tone made her want to throw her whiskey into his face.

“Oh, we’re already past that. The devil doesn’t seem to be a big fan of you; he doesn’t like being outsmarted.”

This had been the right thing to say. She could tell by the way her father relaxed into the chair, truly relaxed; his arrogance made him susceptible to certain kinds of flattery.

“Wouldn’t have thought you had it in you, killing someone just to get your ‘ex boyfriend’ out of hell.”

That was one confirmation she hadn’t needed. It wasn’t unexpected, she’d said so herself. Still, to hear him talk about it so nonchalantly… She went to her knees to examine the bottom drawers. This meant that she could no longer see him but he could also no longer see her. Finally, her face didn’t have to be a mask anymore, at least for a few precious minutes.

“Maybe you don’t know me as well as you thought, daddy”, Veronica said, voice casual.

Hiram waited until she was done with the desk to speak again.

“So what exactly did His Lordship tell you?”

Veronica took her drink and sat down on the other armchair.

“I cannot believe you would just… go into cahoots with Satan. For some reason, I thought there were lines even you won’t cross”, she said and took a sip. At least her daddy’s taste in whiskey was better than his taste in rum.

“It’s business, _mija_. God will understand.”

He waited. She wouldn’t get out of answering him that easily. Pity, but it had been worth a try. She contemplated her next words. Nothing ventured, nothing gained but she had to be careful not to give too much away.

“You probably know that he couldn’t give us any details”, she said. “But as you said. You raised me to be smart.”

Another sip of whiskey.

“Somehow you have convinced Archie to go to hell for you. Willingly.”

Hiram nodded. This time, it was Veronica who simply waited. Just like she’d thought, her father filled the silence: “What can I say. The boy… likes me.”

Again, not necessarily something she needed confirmed. Useful information nonetheless.

“However”, she continued, “if he doesn’t want to be in hell anymore, your deal with the devil is null. I haven’t quite figured out what that means for you yet but, to be honest, I don’t really care.”

“ _Mija_ ”, Hiram said, raising a hand to his heart. “You wound me. Are you saying that you wouldn’t care if I was condemned to an eternity of pain and suffering?”

Finally. Something truly useful.

“No, not really. You made a deal with evil incarnate; it’s not my fault if you have to face the consequences.”

Her father smiled. “I’m so proud of you.”

Veronica hated that he could still surprise her. With just one sentence, he had taken the conversation off-course, ripped the steering wheel from her hands. She had no idea what to say so she finished her whiskey instead.

“I mean, which parent doesn’t want their child to know the virtue of responsibility. It’s what I’ve tried to teach you so many times. If you make a commitment you have to stick to it. I’m glad I succeeded.”

He drank some whiskey. Veronica would have interrupted him if she could have thought of anything to say. But after he’d pulled the rug from under her feet she was in conversational free fall.

“But I’m afraid you won’t succeed in giving me a taste of my own medicine. Unlike you, Archie cares for me, cares _about_ me. And you know how he is with people he cares about, all self-sacrificing and such.”

His smug smirk was irksome to an almost unbearable degree. Veronica knew she couldn’t just storm off, though. She still might gain some new insights. On top of that she still remembered the feeling of having no air in her lungs, around her, anywhere. The stabbing of needles, the pain in her throat. The way her vision had blurred until he’d finally released her. Maybe this whiskey hadn’t been as good as she’d thought.

“It would be quite a task to convince the Andrews boy to trade his place in hell with me. Do you really think you’re up for it?”

His gaze had the hint of something unspoken, something Veronica refused to hear.

“Yes”, she said more confidently than she felt. “Yes, we are up for it.”

She knew she’d made a mistake the moment she saw the glint in her father’s eyes. _We_. He’d ignored it the first time, but now…

“Let me guess, the Cooper girl and the serpent king.”

What could Veronica do but nod? She didn’t want to put Betty in danger, or Jughead. But there was no use in denying it; he knew she was working with someone now, it would not have been hard for him to find out who. She had to get out of here. Every moment she remained in this seat she felt a weight pressing deeper into her chest. She had to get home and take a shower and warn Betty and Jughead and sleep. But mostly, she had to get out. She waited for him to end the conversation, hoping her discomfort wasn’t obvious. 

If it was, he was relishing in it. He swiveled the remaining whiskey, the ice cubes clinking against the glass. Then he said: “You know… I never thanked you.”

Veronica frowned. He wanted her to ask, she knew that. He was goading her into something. But she was too perplexed not to play into his hands. "What are you talking about?"

“Without you, I never would have met Archie Andrews.”

Veronica felt like she was going to be sick. Had the whiskey been poisoned? It hadn’t, she knew that. This was still too much fun for Hiram and she didn’t want to believe her father would kill her. She couldn’t be sure of that anymore, though. She couldn’t be sure of anything.

When Veronica didn’t say anything, Hiram yawned. “Well”, he said. “As pleasant as I find our little chat, especially since you didn’t hurl any unnecessary insults at my head once, I think it’s time for me to head back to bed. Your room is still the same, if you…”

“No.”

“...pity”, Hiram said. He meant it.

* * *

* * *

The morning after they’d summoned the devil, Betty visited the Andrews house. She felt obligated to look after Archie’s mother, even if she didn’t have any news to tell her. “I’m sorry, your son’s in hell but we’re working on it” would probably not go over too well.

“You’re sure you can’t tell me where he is?”, Mary asked. It broke Betty’s heart to see her like this. She looked like she hadn’t slept in ages and cried all the tears her body had to offer.

“I’m sorry, Mrs Andrews. We have a very promising lead, though, which we will be following. We will bring your son back to you.”

Mary's sad smile would follow Betty through the day. 

When she came back home, Alice was already awaiting her.

“I heard you and Jughead come in late last night.”

Betty poured herself a glass of water and decided that she wouldn’t to put up with her mother's questions today. Not after the night she'd had. Not after the morning she's had.

“Mom, you promised to be less nosy, remember?” 

“Is it nosy to be concerned for my daughter's well-being?”, Alice asked and leaned onto her elbows. At least she wasn't in a confrontational mood. Good. 

“If you're asking her questions she doesn't want to answer… Yes.”

“So you and Jughead….”

She trailed off and Betty pulled a face. 

“What? No! Mom, ew!” 

“Don't you 'ew' me, young lady, it's not like it hasn't happened before!” 

“Yes, but…” 

But what? What had so fundamentally changed that Betty couldn't even fathom thinking of Jughead in a sexual context in the present? Dwelling on past memories, while not necessarily pleasant, was alright. But now? 

FP came in and gave his wife a kiss on the cheek. “I'm gonna be working late tonight”, he said, placing a hand on Alice's back. “People have been reporting… 'mysterious happenings'. I want to nib this in the bud so it doesn't become another gargoyle king situation.”

“What kind of mysterious happenings?”, Betty asked her stepfather, equal parts curious and concerned.

“Do you really want to play Nancy Drew in two cases at once?”, Alice chimed in. “Aren't you busy enough looking into Archie's disappearance?”

“Alice is right, Betty. You concentrate on finding Archie. We'll handle this one for now.”

Betty nodded and made her way up to the guest room. They would have to look into this. “Mysterious happenings” starting up around town just after Hiram Lodge got magic powers could not be a coincidence. Yet another thing on their already full plate. She sighed and knocked on her stepbrother’s door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> submitted my thesis babey!!!  
> chapter five is already in the works, they WERE supposed to go to hell in this chapter but then hiram had to be a dick. might be a recurring theme. anyway, thank you all for reading, special thanks to anyone who's commented and left kudos so far, those really mean a lot! I hope you'll stay along for the ride.


	5. here's the hive, where are the bees?

Veronica felt better when she woke up around noon. The weight on her chest was still there and if she thought too long about her father she felt her throat close up but other than that she was fine. She would meet the others at Pop’s for dinner so they could go over their findings. Thus far, Veronica didn’t have anything to report apart from the fact that she’d made everything worse.

It was less of a decision and more of an instinct to pick up the phone and call her mom.

“Hermione Gomez?”

Just hearing her voice made Veronica feel better. Less alone.

“ _Hola mami_ ”, she said.

“What’s wrong, _mija_?”

Veronica held back tears. “It’s…”

What could she even say? “Daddy’s in league with Satan and has sent Archie to hell and now Betty, Jughead, and I are trying to figure out a way to get there to save him”? 

“Hiram?”, Hermione asked. The sadness in her voice was all too familiar to Veronica; it was the sadness of inevitable hurt and disappointment that one had seen coming but still hoped that it wouldn’t come to pass. Hermione had never blamed Veronica for staying with Hiram after she’d moved to New York. She had been shocked when Veronica had decided to stay in Riverdale even after getting out of her father’s claws, though. Still, she rarely brought it up. Veronica appreciated that.

“He’s… doing things. I can’t tell you what but it’s bad, mom. Really bad. Maybe the worst thing he’s ever done. And… People got hurt. People will get hurt. Stopping him won’t be easy this time.”

Hermione sighed. “Is it ever?” She paused for a moment. “I am so proud of you, Ronnie. You know that, right?”

Veronica remembered last night, her father saying he was proud of her in that condescending voice of his. She could only reply with: “Mhm.”

“But… Your fathers actions are not your responsibility. You don’t have to fight every fire he starts.”

If I don’t, who will?, she thought. It was part of the reason why she’d stayed here. To keep an eye on daddy. Seemed like she’d done a lousy job.

“I know, mom.”

“And you always have a place with me in New York.”

Well. That offer would be hard to take if she was dead. Or stuck in hell for all eternity. Both very real possibilities at the moment.

“Thank you.” She really meant it. Then, she remembered that she was not only talking to her mother but also to the previous Mrs Lodge. Who better to ask for what she really needed to know?

“Mom, if daddy were to hide important documents that should never fall into the wrong hands… Where would he do that?”

“You’ve searched his office, I assume?”, Hermione asked and Veronica confirmed it. “Do you know about the secret compartment in his bookshelf?”

Veronica did not. Seemed like she had a plan for the day. Maybe she could turn up tonight with something more than “I’ve put the both of you in grave danger”. First, though, she had to stake the Prembrooke out. 

* * *

* * *

Betty and Jughead had decided that one of them should continue their hell research and the other should look into the “mysterious happenings”, as FP had called them. Since Jughead had already gotten started on the former, the latter fell to Betty. She didn’t mind much. She preferred to investigate the real world instead of… whatever Jughead was about to find. Last night, her mind had tried to ponder on the summoning of the Dark Lord. On Archie being tortured in hell. On Jughead being threatened by the devil. On Veronica breaking down as if the strings that had held her up were cut as soon as Satan left. She hadn’t let it. Instead, she’d planned what to tell Mary, written a letter to her mom in case she never came back, and set her sights on the future. Burying her nose in books might have allowed her mind to start wandering, pondering. She couldn’t afford that. She'd stay on task, stay on topic. No wandering allowed.

Her first stop was the Sheriff's station. She was in luck, FP was apparently out on patrol, maybe investigating one of those incidents. Betty hoped he wouldn’t come too close to the truth. There was no telling what Hiram Lodge would do to those who tried to get in his way. She saw Deputy Hanscum at her desk. Another stroke of luck. The young blonde deputy was always very talkative. Betty put on her friendliest smile and walked in.

Deputy Hanscum was happy to see her, apparently bored with her paperwork. Betty couldn’t blame her. The bureaucracy was one of the reasons she’d never bothered to actually look into a career in law enforcement. That and she had some… qualms about the whole sector. Instead, she was just drifting from job to job, trying to figure out what to do with her life while postponing the daunting reality of college, much to her mother’s chagrin.

“So, what are you working on at the moment?”, Betty asked once they were done with the necessary small talk.

Deputy Hanscum lowered her voice and leaned over the table. “I’m definitely not supposed to tell you this but… There have been hauntings reported, all over town!”

Like any sane person would in that situation, Betty raised her eyebrow and asked, doubtfully: “Hauntings?”

Deputy Hanscum nodded. “We thought it might be a bad batch of the fizzles at first, you know, hallucinations or something. But then two nights ago… This woman called, in tears. Told us her husband was back, wrecking her place. Thought it was just a regular domestic violence call, you know, happens more than you think. We could hear the ruckus in the background so we knew it was serious. We get a team together, drive over there, break the door down… And all we find is her, locked in the bathroom, crying. We asked where her husband was but...”

She pulled a picture from under the pile of documents. A gravestone.

“Turns out he’s been six feet under for some time now.”

“And she can’t have destroyed the apartment herself?”, Betty asked. She knew the woman hadn’t. This was Hiram Lodge’s work. The question was… why? Why was he terrorising that woman and, from Deputy Hanscum’s report, other people as well? He can’t have a grudge with all of them. Plus, the Cooper-Jones household had been spared from ghostly visits so far.

Deputy Hansum shook her head. “If you’d been there… No, someone or something wreaked havoc through that poor woman’s flat. Apparently, this was the last thing in a long row of strange occurrences; it started with phone calls in the middle of the night, just someone breathing down the line.”

Mr Lodge himself or did he also have a magic trick for that?

“Then, stuff went missing. She got herself a CO detector, you know how a lot of supposed hauntings that are actually just carbon monoxide poisoning? But her place was clean and so was she. Still, until that night she tried hard to find an explanation that wasn't 'ghosts', but… reason only goes so far.”

Betty thought about the twins again, floating over the fire. No. No time for that. “Well, the Gargoyle King turned out to be nothing but a man in a costume.” _My brother’s boyfriend, to be exact_. 

“That’s what Sheriff Jones said as well but…”

The phone rang. Betty asnwered it. In theory, civilians shouldn't take emergency calls. However, FP had always allowed her and Jughead a certain leeway when it came to investigations.

After the call, she said: “Someone remembered that they saw Archie Andrews last week. Might be the last time he’s been seen. I’m going to clear the parameter.”

Speaking the language always helped with people taking her seriously. Keep them from asking questions. That's something she’d learned job-hopping; people like you when you talk the right way. They do what you tell them if you know the right words. Deputy Hanscum got up but Betty motioned for her to sit back down. “My stepdad has given me full control over the investigation, Deputy Hanscum. You’ve got your hands full with the hauntings.”

The deputy looked doubtful but one look at the mess on her desk convinced her. “Alright, Betty. I’ll tell FP you dropped by.”

Betty smiled and hoped she’d forget about that.

On her way to the Southside, she called Jughead. Instead of a greeting, she simply said: “Jug, we have a body.”

* * *

The caller had given a very good description of the scene. It was strangely mundane for the site of a possible supernatural muder. A dead man, eyes wide in horror, leaning against a lamp post. When Betty and Jughead arrived on Jughead’s serpent bike, a guy got up from the pavement.

“Are you the police?”

“Sort of”, Betty said. How anyone could think Jughead, with his serpent jacket, was part of the police force was beyond Betty but then again, the Sheriff himself donned his old uniform once in a while.

“We’re a… special investigative unit”, Jughead added. He wasn't really wrong.

The guy nodded. “It was crazy, man. Absolutely crazy. I was just walking and then that guy started screaming like he’s seeing the devil himself or something. And then BOOM, he’s dead. Just like that. I didn’t touch him, of course, didn’t wanna leave any fingerprints. I watch NCIS, I know how you lot work.”

That at least explained why he was being so cooperative.

“Thank you for your help, sir. My colleague will take your personal information in case we come up with more questions later”, Betty said and went to look at the corpse. At a first glance, there was nothing unusual about the man. He hadn’t suffocated, wasn’t bleeding from anywhere. Maybe a heart attack brought on by whichever vision had plagued him? Betty called Dr Curdle Jr. to enquire if he was perchance free to have a body brought in and not tell FP anything about it. Maybe she should ask Veronica for some financial recompensation. Bribing the mortician was starting to seriously cut into her savings.

* * *

“So”, Betty asked after they’d dropped the body off at the morgue. “Found anything interesting?”

They were waiting outside for Veronica. If the body was one of Hiram's associates, she might know. Jughead was leaning against the wall, trying to look relaxed. He obviously hadn't slept well last night, the bags below his eyes were darker than usual. Not surprising, he definitely had a tendency to ponder. It made him a good investigator at times, but right now it was a weakness.

“I might have to take a daytrip to Greendale to get into the really nitty-gritty stuff, but I have some promising leads. How about you?”

“Hiram’s haunting houses for some reason. I just haven’t figured out why yet. I was about to look into the buildings when the witness called about the body.”

Jughead nodded and just like that they were out of things to say. It never used to be like this. Even when they’d broken up before it hadn't been like this. Now, though, Betty had to wreck her brain to come up with something to fill the silence because standing here while he awkwardly looked down at his shoes was becoming unbearable.

"So. How's Gladys?" Not the best topic. Jughead never liked to talk about his mom and Betty didn't blame him. Still, it was relatively safe to talk about. 

He shrugged. "Same as always, you know. Somewhat criminal but doing well." 

"Good to know", Betty said. So much for filling the silence. They stood and tried to not acknowledge the other’s presence until Veronica finally arrived.

 _It's incredible_ , Betty thought, _how, after our hellish night, she can still look so amazing._ She'd sounded tired on the phone but as she stepped out of the car, Veronica was a picture of composure and style. Betty wondered if anything could make her look disheveled. Maybe Veronica, too, had some form of magic.

* * *

Veronica recognised the corpse. A petty drug dealer who'd made trouble for Hiram in the past.

"Daddy once compared him to a cockroach. A little ironic, methinks."

They decided to go to Pop's straight away, a late afternoon milkshake along with their business talk. When they walked out into the bright daylight, a strange feeling overcame Betty and she asked: “Could I maybe ride in the car with you?”

She couldn’t tell who was the most surprised of the three of them. Veronica simply nodded. Next thing Betty knew they were sitting on the backseat, Ronnie staring out of the window and Betty… Well, Betty couldn't seem to pull her gaze from her friend's face. She was trying to find a hint of last night’s impact. Some trace of weariness in her eyes. Betty admired that Veronica was not one to ponder; still, negotiating with the Devil must have taken quite a bit out of her. Then again, she was used to dealing with Hiram. Whatever the case may be, Veronica’s flawless face didn’t betray any troubles.

If Veronica had turned around even once during this car ride, she would have seen Betty's scrutinising eyes on her. She didn't, though. For the entire ride to Pop's, she looked out the window, seemingly lost in her thoughts. Betty didn't dare break the silence. She wanted to. They were alone, there was nowhere to run; she could clear the air, apologise, beg Veronica to take her back. Betty wouldn't do any of that, though. The moment wasn't right; they had to focus on their mission. Everything between them could wait until they were back from hell – if they ever came back.

* * *

* * *

Jughead was the first to arrive at the diner. He'd been taken aback when Betty had asked to ride with Veronica. Had everything between them changed so much that she'd rather spend time with the ice queen of Riverdale than with him? He supposed their silence in front of the morgue hadn't helped.

There was no place in Riverdale, no place in the world, that was akin to Pop's. Once you walked through the doors, it felt as if you were enveloped in a familiar blanket of coziness. It wasn't quite like a home but it was a place that allowed its customers to exist in a bubble, sheltered from their worldly worries and concerns. Everything seemed simpler here. Neither Hiram Lodge nor Hal "The Black Hood" Cooper had been able to destroy this place. Jughead was certain that, as long as Pop Tate was still standing, Pop's would remain a place of comfort for any burdened soul that visited it.

When he'd sat down, Jughead pulled his research from his satchel to look through it once again. He came with meager yieldings but yieldings nonetheless. There were dark rumours surrounding Riverdale's neighbouring town, rumours going back centuries. Every child knew that you should not walk the streets of Greendale after midnight lest unspeakable misfortunes befall you. Looking into it, Jughead had found several reports in the Riverdale register of missing citizens, some from Greendale some from Riverdale. The woods around Greendale seemed especially wrought with danger. But, as he had told Betty, most of the pertinent information was to be found in Greendale itself. Perhaps they would be able to find some names, someone with more knowledge than they could acquire in such a short time. Lamentably, he had not been able to find a lot of reliable information about hell. There were, of course, several portrayals, most of which derivative of Dante's _Divine Comedy_. But which were accurate? Had Dante truly gone through hell and lived to tell the tale? Or was his narrative simply filled with conjectures of a creative mind? Perhaps they would find out.

Betty and Veronica arrived. From Betty's downcast eyes and Veronica's fast stride it did not seem as if they had used this short trip to put their differences aside. It pained Jughead to see these two, once so close, torn apart. He could not tell who was hurting more: Caesar or Brutus; it was certain, though, that they were both hurting. Had Archie felt like Betty did now, yearning to reach a hand out but scared it would get snapped off? At least he and Betty had patched things up, somewhat at least. He couldn't wait for the easy air between them to return; he loathed their awkwardness. It was only a question of time, though. He needed to be patient. They’d broken up before and gotten through it - they could do it again. Especially now, given their familial bond.

As last time, Betty sat beside him and Veronica across.

“So”, Betty asked after they had ordered their drinks. “Where do we start?”

Veronica took the lead. “I broke into daddy’s office and found some very enlightening documents. We already know how to summon the Devil and such, so I will skip that part, but he has also connected quite a few notes on the witches and warlocks of Greendale. Apparently they’re biologically distinct from us mere mortals, not sure how that applies to daddy dearest, but I don’t care much right now. Anyway, there’s two big families daddy worried about, the Blackwoods and the Spellmans. The former isn’t that useful to us at the moment, as they are more heavily confined to the magic realm; the latter, though, might be our way into hell. The Spellmans have lived as normal citizens of Greendale for a few years now and there’s apparently a young witch around our age. It’s uncertain, of course, whether she be friend or foe. But daddy put her down as generally amicable towards humans so it might be worth trying to talk to her.”

Jughead was impressed. This made all of his research superfluous. He lamented the wasted hours but at least now they knew where to start beyond his original plan of looking through the _Greendale Register_ archives.

“What’s our teenage witch’s name?”, he asked.

“Sabrina Spellman.”

Jughead jotted it down in his notebook, along with all the other information Veronica had delivered. Then he said: “I don’t have anything to add to that beyond my hypothesis that the entrance to hell is somewhere in the forests around Greendale; people keep disappearing there, have been for decades, maybe even centuries.”

“That’s something, Jug”, Betty said and smiled encouragingly. Jughead smiled back.

“So”, Veronica said coldly, “It seems as if a trip to Greendale might be inevitable. We can’t leave this town unprotected, though, not with daddy apparently using his newly acquired powers to settle some old bills.”

“And haunt some houses”, Betty added.

Veronica frowned. “Haunt houses?”

“We don’t know why yet but he’s obvious enough that the police have gotten involved. They don’t know about the murder yet, obviously, and it might be better to keep it that way. Your dad’s never been kind to people who get in the way of his business.”

Veronica nodded solemnly. “Even more reason to find someone who can keep an eye on him while we are gone. I’d suggest we spend tonight coming up with a plan on how to keep the investigations as far away from daddy as possible and contemplate who might be fit to keep an eye on everything while we are on our mission.”

“Who made you the boss all of a sudden?”, Jughead couldn’t help but ask.

With a raised eyebrow, Veronica replied: “Do you have any other ideas, Juggykins?”

Jughead ground his teeth and mumbled a no.

“Great. In that case I’ll see you here for breakfast, eight a.m., sharp.”

She smiled a Lodge smile and Jughead suppressed the need to roll his eyes.

“I can’t do tomorrow morning”, Betty said. “I have… something to do.”

Was there a reason she wanted to hide her visits to Mary from Veronica? Was it just to protect her feelings? To not bring the uncomfortable elephant of Archie suffering in hell right this moment and his mother suffering because she did not know her son’s whereabouts into the room? In another time, Jughead might have asked Betty as soon as they were on their own. Now, though, he could only ponder on her reasons.

“The two of you are a team anyway.” Veronica shrugged. “I see no reason why both of you need to come.”

Betty’s shoulders fell.

“I’ll just concentrate on the police investigation and trying to figure out what I can before we leave”, she said.

Jughead wanted to place a comforting hand on her forearm but something in Veronica’s steely gaze kept him from doing that.

“Since we've got a solid plan I don't see a reason to continue this _splendid_ tête-à-tête", Veronica said as she was getting up. "Do you have the milkshakes covered, Jughead?"

He definitely remembered why they'd fallen out of touch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can you BELIEVE I've kept a more or less regular update schedule.... incredible. this is now both longer than my thesis AND my longest fic. truly, the power of riverdale.
> 
> will that power compell you to leave kudos and comments? hopefully because reading comments is always delightful and kudos notifications remind me that this fic exists and that maybe I should continue writing.
> 
> I want to thank [astrospace](https://archiveofourown.org/users/astrospace/pseuds/astrospace) for [giving me the inspiration for "Juggykins"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27438310/comments/363969224), it was a joy to write out and gave me brain damage.


	6. cast my reverie back into the sea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> disclaimer: I haven't finished riverdale season four yet and only watched the first season of caos so canon is but a mere suggestion to me

That night it was just Betty, Jughead, Jellybean and their parents at the dinner table. Charles only came by once a week for their big family dinner, partially because Alice had all but banned Chic from the house. When Betty had said: “It’s water under the bridge”, Alice had replied: “The bridge he burned.” and that had been it. Betty was glad Charles didn’t take it personally; she loved her brother and even though he’d probably deny it if asked she knew that she was his favourite sibling.

“Didn't you say you were working late tonight?”, Betty asked, voice nonchalant.

FP sighed. “I would have, but we just don't have any leads. I'm on call though, so if anything happens…” 

“So no more 'mysterious happenings' today?”, Alice asked. 

Betty pretended to have lost interest in the conversation and inspected her salad very closely. She didn't want her parents to think that she had anything to do with the investigation. 

“Are you asking as my concerned wife or as the head of the _Riverdale Register_?”, FP teased.

“Why can’t it be both?”

On the one hand, Betty was glad her mom was happy; after everything she’d been through, she deserved some love and stability. FP was able to give that to her. On the other hand, some part of Betty was deeply uncomfortable whenever the two of them flirted. She couldn’t tell whether it was “ew, that’s my mom”, “ew, that’s my ex’s dad” or a mix of both. At least she was not alone in her discomfort. Jughead always looked like he wished to be anywhere else when their parents started their banter. Only Jellybean seemed unbothered.

FP sighed again. “I can’t really tell you much. As I said, we don't have any leads. You know the Barney building complex on Main Street and Radclyffe’s hall? They seem to be… I don’t want to say ‘haunted’ but what other word would you use to describe things disappearing and reappearing from thin air, strange noises in the night, spectres of people who’ve long been dead? That was a rhetorical question, Jug. Anyway, we can’t really find anything these two have in common, either in their history or their inhabitants. Some tenants have lived there most of their lives, others just moved in. The victims of the hauntings are thinking of leaving, though. They say it’s not worth the hassle.”

“You don’t really believe that it’s ghosts, though, do you, dad?”, Jellybean asked.

“Oh, don’t worry, JB. I’m sure that, in the end, there will be a perfectly normal explanation for all of this.”

While the conversation continued, Betty was busy connecting the new information to what she already knew. Hiram Lodge was haunting buildings, the Barney building and Radclyffe’s hall to be exact. Tenants were talking about moving out. She’d have to look into the ownership of these two houses.If she was right, if they were still in the hands of the city—

The phone rang. Jughead got up to answer it. Around the table, Betty saw mostly confused faces; only FP wore a concerned frown.

The clock on the wall seemed unbearably loud as the seconds passed by. Nobody spoke. Finally, Jughead said: “Thanks, but we’re not interested. Please don’t call us again.”

When he came back in, he gave a barely perceptible nod to Betty’s raised eyebrow before saying: “Just some telemarketer. Where do these people even get our number?”

An ice cold fist closed itself around Betty’s heart. Step one: Strange calls with no one on the other end. Step two: Things go missing and reappear. Step three: Havoc. Seemed like the haunting of the Cooper-Jones house had begun.

* * *

* * *

Veronica wasn’t surprised that her father was using his magic powers for paranormal property fraud but she had expected something a little grander. He was probably just getting started. Her breakfast with Jughead had been strained, to put it mildly. He had accused her of telling her dad about their plans and she had denied it. She had told him who she was planning to assign the position of the protector and he had laughed in her face. All in all, things went as well as expected. The two of them had never been close, their friendship rather based on a ceasefire between two acquaintances who happened to deeply care about the same set of people than affection for each other. Still, despite their various disagreements, Veronica had never hated Jughead. She was pretty sure that, at some point, he had hated her, but who could blame him. Her allegiance with her father had frequently clouded her judgement. That was all over now, though. She could see clearly and she knew what she had to do.

Driving up to Thistlehouse was a pleasant experience, as usual. It had been Cheryl who had helped her move out of the Pembrooke once and for all, who had opened her doors and let Veronica in when she'd had no one else to turn to. Veronica treasured the memories of their breakfasts together, coming up with expansions for the rum business, catching up on town gossip and conducting plans for the renovation of Thornhill. Sometimes, she wondered if her life would be less miserable if she had simply stayed.

“V! How nice to see your marvelous face!”

Veronica smiled. How could she not when this felt like coming home.

“It's wonderful to see you too, Cheryl. It's been way too long. Unfortunately, I come with ulterior motives”, she said. “Could we maybe… talk privately?”

Cheryl nodded with a worried frown and led Veronica along familiar halls. Once they’d settled in, Veronica started: “As you have probably heard by now, Archie Andrews is missing.”

Cheryl nodded.

“Betty, Jughead and I know where he is and know how to get him back - at least more or less. But for that, we will have to leave Riverdale. So I wanted to ask…”

“If I could be Riverdale’s red knight while you and the two investigators retrieve Riverdale’s hero? It would be an honour.”

“There… is something more. I won’t waste your time by beating around the bush and hope that you will feel the truth of what I’m saying in your heart.”

“What is it, _chérie_?”

Veronica took a deep breath. Even though she was sure Cheryl would not be as skeptical as Jughead, this was still hard to get out.

“My father has become a regular Faustus, Cheryl. He has made a deal with the literal devil and is now in possession of magic powers; there's no telling what damage he'll be able to do.”

“Fret not, dearest Veronica”, Cheryl said and placed a hand on Veronica’s. “You know how proficient I am with my bow. Your miscreant father will never see it coming.”

Veronica did not appreciate the tumultuous emotions this statement unleashed inside of her. She was aware that rescuing Archie meant condemning her father to an eternity of suffering and she had made her peace with that. And yet, the thought of Cheryl shooting her father, to have an arrow pierce his heart, filled her with dread. Nonetheless, she smiled and nodded.

“Thank you, Cheryl. I knew I could count on you.”

* * *

* * *

Convincing the Serpents to stall the investigation regarding both the haunting and the mysterious murders had been easier than Jughead had expected. The trust they showed him by following his orders without any questions still surprised him. Such a contrast to the early days — he'd been but a child back then. He was still young, of course, but he was definitely a man by now. A man the other Serpents trusted. He hoped he was not leading them towards certain doom.

Even though he didn't expect to find much, he still continued his research into hell. He needed something to keep his mind occupied, might as well make it something useful. Endlessly contemplating "what if"s wouldn't help anybody, least of all Archie; and so he buried his head in books, reading all accounts about journeys to the underworld he could find. Orpheus was not very helpful; Archie might have been able to play a song that made stones cry but Jughead was definitely not. However, he would make sure to ask Satan about the rules regarding “looking back”. Wouldn't want Archie to be dragged back down after all their efforts because of one stupid mistake. If they could get out at all. Reading Satre had filled Jughead with doubt. He didn’t know what to expect; would it be fire and brimstone? Would they be haunted by the memories they’d rather forget, the sins of their past? Whatever the case might be, they needed to be prepared for all kinds of torment, mental as well as physical. In an old wive’s tale, he found something new, something he hadn’t read anywhere before. Since he’d rather be safe than sorry, especially in this case, he texted the others. Then, he returned to his research. Maybe he’d find other things they could use.

* * *

The drive to Greendale the next day was tense. They were in Veronica’s car. She’d argued that, since they didn’t know how long they were going to be away, it made the most sense to use her driver.

“Or do you want to come back from hell just to find your precious bike towed?”

Veronica and Betty were in the backseat, Jughead riding shotgun. Apart from the steady humming of the engine the car was silent. If it had just been Betty and him they might have talked, at least a little. But with Veronica there, silence seemed the only option. Even without looking back, Jughead could feel her hostile presence. Sometimes he wished they’d been closer. Maybe they could have helped each other to get over the shock of catching Betty and Archie inflagranti. He, of course, was aware of the reasons that had kept them from ever really becoming friends; still, he wondered what could have changed if they had cared about each other, not simply by proxy. Would he still have run away, lived as a traveler, never sticking around in one place for too long? Or would he have stayed?

Dwelling on the past usually brought nothing except misery but neither present nor future were looking much brighter at the moment. It was only natural, he supposed, to be a little gloomy on your way to hell. To say he was worried would have been an understatement; it would be easier to count the things he wasn’t worried about. Most of his woes could be attributed to Hiram Lodge. Veronica had denied her father’s knowledge of the rescue mission; Jughead didn’t believe her. Something had led to Hiram starting his spooks in their house. Since that call at dinner, the phone had rung two more times, only breathing on the other side. Before they’d left, Jughead had heard Alice ask FP if he’d seen the vase that was usually on the counter. He was very grateful for Hiram’s love of dramatic antics. The body they’d found showed what he could do if he stopped playing around.

Jughead was pulled from his dark contemplations when they had arrived at the Greendale public library. Even though Jughead knew the Spellmans lived in Greendale and that Sabrina had attended High School there (at least for some time), he had not been successful in finding their address online. He hoped he’d find it on the town registry. Betty and Veronica were going to start asking around while he was looking through the books. Splitting up had not been his idea but Betty’s argument had made sense; they needed to find Sabrina Spellman (and with her, hopefully, the way to hell) as soon as possible. She hadn’t elaborated but that wasn’t necessary. Jughead knew what she was talking about. They were not only racing against the damage Hiram might do to Riverdale but also against the Devil himself. Every moment they spent on research, reconnaissance, playing Hiram Lodge’s game, Archie Andrews suffered. They had to get to hell as soon as possible.

* * *

* * *

When Betty had suggested “splitting up” she’d meant her and Veronica as well; and yet here they were, walking through the mostly deserted streets of Greendale together. Betty was glad for her scarf. It kept the cold at bay. Her mom had knit it for her a few years back; no matter how long Betty wore it, this scarf always smelled like home. That’s why she’d decided to take it as an anchor. When Jughead had texted her (“Find an anchor, someTHING meaningful u can take”), her first thought had gone to her favourite scarf.

“Awfully empty for a Saturday morning”, Veronica remarked. “Where is everyone?”

Betty shrugged. “Maybe we should have gone with Jug, I’m sure someone at the library could have pointed us in some sort of direction.”

Before Veronica could answer, a young black woman approached them with purpose.

“Excuse me”, she said. “But I think I might be able to help you.”

* * *

* * *

Jughead could have kicked himself. Once he had managed to shake off the unusually chatty librarian, it had taken him only about a minute to find out about _Spellman Mortuary: Funerals, Burials & Rites_ . It hadn’t occurred to him that a family of witches might own a business. He tried calling first Betty and then Veronica but neither picked up. Despite his worry, he decided to make his way to the mortuary and shot them a text.

As he approached the imposing black house, Jughead was on edge. Whether Sabrina Spellman was home or not, he was in all likelihood about to meet a witch. How much should he tell them? Would they see him as a threat to be eliminated if he asked the wrong questions?

A young man sat on the porch, a book in his hands. When Jughead tentatively walked up the stairs, the young man smiled at him.

“Hi handsome, looking for something in particular?”

He winked.

“Uhm.”

This was… unexpected. Unusual, too. Jughead wasn’t used to being flirted with, least of all by guys. He cleared his throat and hoped he wasn’t blushing.

“I… I am looking for someone.”

The young man’s smile got wider and he closed the book. “No need to be nervous, I don’t bite. Now, a cheap flirt would say something along the lines of ‘unless you want me too’, but I am not a _cheap_ flirt.”

He got up and Jughead instinctively took a step back. Unfortunately, he was still standing on the steps so instead of solid ground his foot found nothing. He already saw himself fall backwards onto a rock and get to hell the conventional way but the young man caught him.

“Hi”, he said again as he slowly pulled Jughead up. “I’m Ambrose Spellman, nice to meet you.”

Jughead was very aware of how close they were standing. With Ambrose’s steadying hand on Jughead’s back they were practically embracing. The hairs on his body stood up and a heat radiated from where Ambrose was touching him. He was a warlock, no doubt; was he using magic on Jughead right now? It would explain his sweating and the way his words seemed to be caught in his throat. Ambrose released him and only then could Jughead collect his thoughts enough to answer: “My name is Jughead Jones and I’m looking for your… for Sabrina Spellman.”

Ambrose finally stepped out of Jughead’s personal space and leaned against the doorframe. Jughead hadn’t noticed how oddly good he smelled until he was breathing in fresh air again.

“She’s not here right now but she’ll come over soon. You can come in and wait if you want, I could make us some tea, we can get to know each other…”

He winked again and Jughead was about to decline the offer when he realised that he didn’t really have anywhere else to go.

“Th-” His throat was dry again. “Thank you, Ambrose.”

“My _pleasure_.”

One person, whether warlock or human, could not wink that much. It wasn’t natural. Jughead hoped either the girls or Sabrina would turn up soon because he didn’t know how long he’d survive this.

* * *

* * *

The young woman who had introduced herself as Roz led them through Greendale. Veronica was holding small talk with her while Betty walked a little behind them. Her mission focus didn’t leave her room for unnecessary pleasantries, at least that was the explanation Veronica cooked up for herself. It was impressive, really, how Betty could dedicate all of her mind to a single goal and not stray from the path until she reached it. She was the best person to get a friend out of hell. Veronica wasn’t sure she was as qualified herself but she couldn’t let Betty go alone.

“I’ve actually never been to Riverdale, all the stuff you read in the paper makes it seem like a scary place”, Roz said.

Veronica shrugged. “It has its dangers, yes. But doesn’t every town, every city? As long as you stick to the right paths and don’t cross the wrong people it’s wonderful. And, as my mom once said, you haven’t truly lived until you’ve had one of Pop Tate’s milk shakes. They’re simply phenomenal.”

“Maybe I should come visit you sometime. If…” She stopped. “We’re here! _Cerberus Books_.”

The book café was cozy and all the tables were filled. So that’s where the people of Greendale went on a Saturday morning. Roz moved towards a corner with five armchairs; a sharply-dressed young woman with blonde hair was talking to someone. She looked up and smiled when she saw Roz but it turned into a frown when she noticed Veronica and Betty trailing behind her.

“Morning, ‘Brina”, Roz said when they’d reached the corner. “These are Betty and Veronica from Riverdale. They were looking for you.”

The young woman sighed. “And here I thought I could have a chill weekend. Well, I’m Sabrina Spellman. What do you want?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY they're in Greendale. I should have worked on an abstract on text-image relations in lovecraft country but who needs that when you can write riverdale fanfiction instead.  
> I hope you liked this chapter; if you did you can let me know by leaving kudos or commenting :D  
> I'm really looking forward to the next one, it's gonna be FUN


	7. sinners one sinners all

When Jughead heard the door go, he all but jumped up from the couch.

“That must be your cousin”, he hastily said.

Ambrose smiled and stretched lazily. “Pity, this was a lot of fun. You should come around again, Jughead Jones. We could continue…” His gaze traveled the length of Jughead’s body and Jughead hoped he didn’t have some kind of magic x-ray vision. “ _This._ ”

A young woman rounded the corner and laughed when she saw them. “Ambrose, are you making our guests uncomfortable again by flirting with them?”

“Me?” Ambrose’s eyes widened theatrically. “Sabrina, I would _never_. Juggy and I were just talking, that’s all.”

Again with the winking. Jughead’s skin was prickling. He should not have drunk that tea, who knew what the warlock had put in there.

Sabrina simply rolled her eyes. Betty and Veronica walked in after her and for the first time since Ambrose had started talking to him, Jughead relaxed a little. They were safe, they were here. Step one of their plan was completed. He could have done without Veronica’s smirk, though.

“Sorry, Jug”, Betty said. “We didn’t hear our phones, but we came over as soon as we saw your text.”

“It’s alright.”

Ambrose had gotten up to leave but stopped in front of Veronica. “Now if I had known a beauty like you would walk through our humble doors today-”

“Save it, casanova, I’m here strictly on business.”

He defensively raised his hands. “Alright, ma’am. I’m gonna leave you to it. If you need anything, cousin…”

Sabrina nodded and Jughead was finally free. No more Ambrose. He sat down on the couch and breathed a sigh of relief.

“I apologise for my cousin”, Sabrina said. “He’s just a little bored at the moment. Now, please, sit. What brings you here?”

* * *

As far as places to plan the details of a trip to hell went, you could do worse than the Spellman living room. You could definitely also do better but it beat Dilton’s bunker. Sabrina was sitting in an armchair, a black cat purring on her lap. Looking at her, Jughead wondered if he’d ever met a witch before without his knowledge. Ambrose at least had a certain je-ne-sais-quoi about him that marked him as distinctly otherworldly. But Sabrina? She looked like any other girl. The longer she talked, though, the more Jughead saw through the surface. She was a witch, a powerful one, and she’d had her fair share of run-ins with the devil.

According to her, getting to hell would be the easy part. “You could go through the Devil’s Doorstep but unless you really like dark and dusty tunnels, I’d recommend the paintings in Dorian’s Gray Room.”

Jughead, Betty, and Veronica didn’t ask many questions; they just let Sabrina talk. She knew more than them, obviously, so inquiries seemed futile; especially since none of them really knew where to even start.

“Once you’re in hell, you should focus on getting to his Lordship. There’s sort of a… shared custody agreement when it comes to hell. But since Lucifer’s the one who made the deal with your father and the one you summoned it should be his turn right now.”

The casual way in which Sabrina talked about this sent Jughead’s head into a spin. He’d somewhat gotten used to witches and hell and… everything. In a town like Riverdale, you had to learn to go with the flow; otherwise, you would drown. Still, there was something intimidating about this dainty person offhandedly mentioning the “shared custody agreement” over hell and name dropping Satan like an old acquaintance. Maybe he was.

“I can’t give you a map, obviously. It’s very metaphysical but as long as you concentrate on the goal of your journey you’ll get there. Eventually. In theory, there are nine circles but… they don’t manifest the same for everyone. Don’t get distracted, stick to the path, and you should be fine.”

“Oh, so Dante’s conjectures are accurate?”, Jughead couldn’t help but ask.

“I’d say reports rather than conjectures, but yes. Anyway, the most important advice I can give you is this: pay very close attention to everything that is said down there, especially by demons and the Dark Lord. He likes to play games.”

_Just like another devil we know_ , Jughead thought, gazing at Veronica who sat there, motionless. 

“I think that’s all. Don’t trade your souls away, don’t get consumed by hellfire. Time moves differently so don’t end up in the wrong century or something, that would be weird. Oh, also don’t eat anything. You can’t actually die from starvation in hell but you can be trapped down there for all eternity so no matter how hungry you are, stay away from the food.”

Sabrina thought for a while and went on stroking the purring cat.

“What about anchors?”, Betty asked. “Physical things that bind us to the mortal realm?”

Sabrina frowned. “Never heard of that, to be honest. But it… probably can’t hurt.”

The way she stressed “probably” made Jughead nervous.

“If you want to use Dorian’s paintings, we have to go soon. He definitely wouldn’t appreciate three mortals disturbing his most lucrative night.”

* * *

* * *

Dorian’s Gray room was like a mix between the Maple Club, _La Bonne Nuit_ and her father’s office. Sabrina had told them it was a gentleman’s club and Veronica could see that; in her experience, gentlemen (or those who liked to call themselves such) loved nothing more than to sit around in big armchairs, drink expensive liquor and puff even more expensive cigars. It made them feel important, this portrayal of leisure. Apparently warlocks weren’t all that different. The club was empty, apart from a guy behind the bar polishing glasses, but the smoke of the previous night still hung in the air. This place was ripe with darkness and debauchery, containing gateways to hell in more ways than one.

Without looking up, the young man behind the bar said: “We’re closed.”

Despite the rudeness, his voice was like angel chimes. As they stepped closer to the bar and properly saw the man for the first time, Veronica realised that his face matched his voice. She had, of course, seen gorgeous people before; in fact, she was one of those people (she had no patience for misplaced humility). But this man was in a completely different league. By just existing, he was redefining beauty, now and for all eternity. Through his allure, Dorian’s Gray Room was transformed; it was still sinister and dark but he shone bright enough to make it charming.

His annoyed countenance didn’t quite match his ethereal aura.

“Sabrina Spellman. What in the Dark Lord’s name have you dragged to my doorstep?”

Sabrina got right to the point: “Dorian, Riverdale gang. Riverdale gang, Dorian Gray. These three mortals need to get to hell and your paintings are more comfortable than the Devil's Doorstep.”

Veronica blinked. So he was really—? 

“Oscar Wilde's Dorian Gray?”, Jughead asked.

Dorian rolled his eyes. “Should have opted for different pillow-talk but who could have known he'd use my life as a morality tale. Yes, Dorian Gray who inspired the book. Not entirely accurate, as you can see. For one, I'm still very much alive.”

Veronica decided that this would not be her breaking point. This was but another instance of her world expanding beyond the scope of her imagination. No big deal. Magic, witches, hell… Why not an immortal book character with a corrupted soul come to life? She decided to simply accept this as a new facet of her ever-evolving life and move on by taking the unique business opportunity that presented itself. She could be the first mortal woman to breach into a yet untapped market - warlock gentlemen’s clubs. With her most confident stride, she walked up to the bar and offered Dorian her hand. She would not be intimidated by his divine beauty or his age.

“Enchante, Mr Gray, my name is Veronica Luna.”

He looked down at her hand as if it was infested.

“Did I ask?”

This wouldn’t be easy. But Veronica rarely backed down from a challenge. She smiled and reached into her purse.

"You did not, but you’ll be glad to know it." 

She pulled out a small glass bottle, a Red Raven rum sampler.

“What I have in my hands is a unique rum bland, patented by me; it has proven, time and time again, to be superior to many a knock-off and has left all customers beyond satisfied.”

Dorian finally stopped polishing glasses. She had him. He didn't know it yet, thought she was just an insignificant little human who he could shortly amuse himself with. But now that she had his attention she wouldn't let it go until he had tried her rum. And from the look of this establishment, "expensive liquor that can only be ordered through the head of the company herself" was exactly the kind of thing he’d love to have. Behind her, she could hear Jughead ask: "Is she fucking serious?" but she didn't heed him. Her entire focus was on the sale she was about to execute.

“I've lived for centuries, girl. What makes you think your rum could impress me?”

She pushed the sampler over the bar. “Why don't you find out?”

While Dorian took the bottle, Veronica rattled down her sale's pitch. She'd given it a thousand times by now but her heart was still in it; she knew that her rum was superior to all the others on the market and she had yet to taste a better one. That conviction on top of the delicious flavour profile usually got people to order at least a few bottles. Once they'd gotten that far, most of them realised that Veronica was right. No other rum could compare to what she offered.

“And if you're worried that I'm about to poison you-- well, I guess that's not an issue in your case”, she wrapped it up.

Dorian smiled, amused. “Indeed, it is not.”

He carefully tried the rum. Still smiling, he sneered: “Miss Luna, I must say I am impressed; you should feel honoured by that statement, for the number of women who have managed to impress me can be counted on one hand.” 

So Wilde had gotten the misogyny right. Could have guessed that from the fact that he was running a gentleman’s club in the 21st century.

“The gall of offering me your second-rate excuse for a liquor just before you are about to go through the Dark Lord's kingdom is impressive. I will place an order but don’t give yourself any delusions regarding the quality of your product — I pity you and what you are about to go through, that is all.”

The reasons didn't matter to Veronica, especially from a chauvinist who thought he was special just because he happened to be immortal. A sale was a sale. His guests would show him that, while he might stay forever young, his taste buds were stuck in time.

She didn't let any of that show in her friendly smile, though, as she said: “I'm looking forward to doing business with you, Mr Gray.”

"Are you done?", Jughead asked. He was annoyed but what did he want her to do? Pass up a chance like this? 

"Yes, I am done", she said as she quickly pulled a business card from her purse and gave it to Dorian.

* * *

* * *

“Little Miss capitalism at it again”, Jughead grumbled as Veronica rejoined the group.

Betty slightly shook her head and said: “Jug…” to warn her step brother off. He had a point - Veronica’s timing bordered on tasteless. Still, it wasn’t worth getting into a fight over, especially given the proud smile on her face. They were about to go into hell; what use was there in destroying Veronica’s last triumph before that? Even though Betty disapproved of her turning this into a business opportunity, seeing Veronica in action had been impressive. Her confidence, faux or not, was mesmerising.

“Take the Planes of Pain, it’s closest to the ventilator”, Dorian said after he’d pocketed Veronica’s business card. “Maybe that way the rotting stink of hell will dissipate faster.”

Sabrina thanked him and led them towards a painting. It was a gruesome view of barren fiery fields, pillars sticking out of it, people screaming. Betty shuddered. So that was the place where she’d be for the foreseeable future. Hell. At least she wouldn’t be alone. It felt right to have Veronica and Jughead by her side. She buried her nose in her scarf and smelled _home_. They’d return to Riverdale; they would go through hell and come back out on the other side. All of them, including Archie.

“I would ask if you’re ready but… I don’t think you’re ever ready to go to hell”, Sabrina said. She hesitated. Then she added: “Your friend is lucky to have you. Very lucky. I’ll keep an eye on Riverdale while you’re down there.”

They thanked her earnestly; with Cheryl and Sabrina watching over Riverdale, they had one less thing to worry about.

“Oh, wait, lest I forget!”, Veronica said and pulled a pair of cat ears from her purse. Betty recognised them, remembered the hours her and Josie had spent carefully constructing them. The way Veronica had beamed when they’d given them to her as a birthday gift. And now they were her anchor to their mortal realm.

If Jughead’s theory was right, if they had to be prepared for physical as well as mental torture, Betty knew what was coming. It would be easier if she got it out of the way, if she apologised right now, tried to set things right. But Veronica deserved better than that, more than that. So Betty swallowed her words and turned to Sabrina.

“How does this work, exactly? Do we have to touch the paintings, or…?”

“If you touch my paintings I will have your fingers!”, Dorian called from the bar. So no touching then.

“I will say a spell to activate the portal and then you just step through.”

_Just step through._ Sounded simple enough. Betty nodded. She held out her hands, one to Jughead, one to Veronica. It felt right at this moment. 

Sabrina looked at them once again. “Good luck. And hold on tight.”

She began to speak in a language Betty didn’t understand; it wasn’t quite Latin but close. The smell was the first thing that changed; foul sulfur seeped into the club and made Betty cough. Taking shallow breaths helped. That didn’t help with the screams, though. When Sabrina had finished her first sentence, they started in the distance, growing louder with every word. They were screams of a suffering so great Betty didn’t even want to contemplate what might have drawn them forth. With the screams came the heat. A subtle wind that took up and made Betty wish she’d taken a different anchor. Her scarf would make her neck unbearably warm, it was already starting to itch from sweat. The hands clasped in hers were getting sticky and yet they held on tight, just as Sabrina had said.

The painting seemed to grow before her eyes, the barren wasteland first stretching further back, then extending to the side until it, at last, approached, reached out to them. A deep growling voice boomed through the plains and Betty was in hell. She took a deep breath and regretted it at once. The smell of sulfur and smoke burned in her throat and brought tears to her eyes. She coughed and reflexively let go of the hands holding hers. When she had finally recovered from her fit, she found herself alone between wailing souls on the plains of pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're in hell!! Yay!! The next chapters will be a Lot to write so I don't know if I'll be able to keep my weekly upload schedule but I have outlined them so we'll see!  
> The Picture of Dorian Gray was one of my favourite books at one point so of course I had to include the best on-screen depiction to date even though I haven't seen it myself yet. I did finish Riverdale season 4 though!! Very fun, can't wait for season 5.


	8. listen back to your domestication

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so remember that "angst with happy ending" tag? this is the "angst" part of that.

Archie couldn’t really enjoy these short moments of reprieve they granted him. He was always on edge, never knowing how many calm breaths he would be allowed to take before everything started up again. The physical stuff wasn’t that hard to bear; sure, it was painful at times and not really fun, but they’d made it pretty clear that he couldn’t die. The pain was temporary and so were all the injuries; he healed faster than he would in Riverdale. The last cuts were just healing up, without a trace. He wouldn’t get any new scars. He was glad that none of the burn marks lasted, unlike the one on his hip. His hand touched the space where the sigil was. He couldn’t feel it below his jeans but he was all too aware of its presence. His environment started to change and Archie knew his break was over.

Warden Norton was a menacing figure down here. Archie was never sure whether the warden was actually here or whether it was just some demon wearing his skin. He knew they did that sometimes, because he’d been confronted with Mr Lodge more than once. Those were some of his least favourite sessions, when they showed him the version of Mr Lodge everyone else saw, the version that was cruel, out to hurt everyone, especially Archie. In his heart, Archie knew this wasn’t true, couldn’t be true. Mr Lodge had done horrible things but at his heart, he was a good guy. Warden Norton was talking, something about Archie being the perfect victim, an innocent lamb about to be slaughtered. Archie tuned him out. Of all the people that tortured him, he’d gotten used to Warden Norton the easiest; down here or at Leopold & Loeb, it didn’t really make a difference. At least this time, no one had to see him suffer. Also, the warden was wrong this time. He wasn’t innocent, was all but innocent. He’d done things, terrible things, that would follow him for the rest of his days. Maybe for all eternity, now that he was here.

Warden Norton stuck a flaming hot spear through Archie’s abdomen and Archie screamed as his flesh tore and sizzled. He’d never get used to the smell of his own burning skin.

“You listen to me when I am talking, boy!”, he screeched, spear still in hand.

Archie grit his teeth, his face contorted into a pained grimace. If he’d seen it coming it wouldn’t have hurt as much. Now, though, it was like he’d never been stabbed like this before, like it was the first time. It took all his restraint not to reach down and try to pull the spear out. It wouldn’t be worth the blisters on his hand.

He hated Warden Norton’s smile. At this moment, he wished this was simply a demon in disguise, that the real Warden Norton was also down here, somewhere else, suffering just as much as Archie, if not more.

The demon cackled and slowly changed form until it was Hiram Lodge who held the burning spear still in Archie’s stomach. Archie closed his eyes to prepare himself for what was about to come. He needed strength, resolve. Mr Lodge had told him that if Archie ever had a moment of doubt, if he ever wished, however fleetingly, to go back to Riverdale, Hiram Lodge would be sucked into hell and Archie would be free. He couldn’t allow that to happen. Despite everything Mr Lodge had done, he didn’t deserve to be down here, didn’t deserve to go through this. Besides, who would protect Riverdale from the Greendale witches? So he had to brace himself, stay strong. No matter what this demon was about to say. He had to bear this. He couldn't let Mr Lodge down. He couldn't let Riverdale down. Archie opened his eyes again. He was ready.

“I’m impressed, Archie”, the demon wearing Hiram’s face said. “You have gotten so…”

It yanked the spear in Archie’s stomach, turning the pulsing hot pain he’d just about managed to ignore into a new onslaught of burned flesh and that nauseating smell. Archie’s pained groan made the demon with Hiram’s face smile.

“...resilient. You are so much stronger than I would have thought.”

Archie was surprised when the Hiram Lodge facade faded away. Usually, the demons liked to spend some time being cruel to Archie in the ways Mr Lodge had been, replaying the last with some increased physical torture. Sometimes, they left it at that. Other times, they found their joy in pushing Archie so far that he almost hated Mr Lodge, only to remind him of his loyalty, his devotion, their contract, drawn up in blood. One of the demons' favourite moments to replay, to distort, was that night in Hiram's office. He'd lived it so often that, by now, Archie could no longer remember what had really happened. It didn't matter, though. He was here now. He would bear whatever came his way. 

When Archie realised who the demon was turning into, he gasped and tried to back away, completely forgetting the burning spear embedded in his body. The agonised sound escaping Archie’s throat could be described as a mix between a groan and a wail.

Betty’s laugh didn’t fit this place. The real Betty would never be so cruel, would never find Archie’s pain amusing. Archie knew this. And yet, it hurt to see her face, a face he had missed so much, beaming as it witnessed his agony.

When the laughter had died down, Betty’s voice, from the demon’s throat, said: “Did you know that we placed bets? On how long you would stay down here. Quite a few of us have already lost. So if you have a session that’s much worse than your usual ones, well…”

Another yank, another fresh wave of searing pain, blinding pain. This time, Archie was prepared. It didn’t help at all.

“...we are sore losers, you know.”

The demon pulled the spear from Archie’s body and, with nothing holding him up any longer, Archie fell to his knees. This was new. The demons had worn the faces of Mr Lodge, Mr Cooper, Warden Norton, and a few other people from Archie’s past. He had gotten used to this assortment of characters. At this point, he knew what they were going to say, how they would each try to hurt him. Betty, though? Her face had never been part of this. Archie’s heart raced as the demon who looked like Betty but didn’t talk like her started to walk around him.

“Not me, though. I haven’t lost yet. In fact, I bet that you won't ever leave this place. Wanna know why?”

He didn’t. He wanted this demon to change faces, to not look like his best friend as it taunted him.

“Because you think you deserve this. The suffering, the torture, the pain. You feel like, finally, you’re getting your just punishment.”

The demon smiled. Betty wouldn’t smile like that, never. Archie buried his face in his hands. He didn’t care that the demon might stab him again. He couldn’t bear to look at that face, not here. Not like this.

“And you know what?”

This wasn’t Betty’s voice but it was just as familiar. The venom in it… Archie had heard it before, remembered the pain in those brown eyes that were now probably looking down at him. He kept his head buried in his hands. Nobody had touched Archie's heart so far; yet there was invisible fist, painfully gripping it. He hoped beyond hope that the demon would leave soon, that he could catch a breath and forget all of this.

“You are right. You have hurt so many people. You have hurt _me_. You are a monster, Archiekins.”

He didn't know what hurt more: Veronica stabbing his shoulder, the burning, blistering, or the invisible fist crushing his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *gently pats archie andrews on the head* this boy can fit SO much self-loathing into him :)
> 
> a little interlude to answer the burning question no one was asking, namely: "how is archie doing?" (turns out the answer is: not great!)  
> The one thing keeping this fic on schedule is the fact that I've got uni during the week and do this on the weekends (and also during the week but shh) but now I've got christmas break, christmas gifts to make and family to see (according to regulations.) so the weekly weekend upload schedule will probably suffer.  
> I wish everyone taking exams and writing paper right now academic prosperity and I hope to see everyone for the next chapter!  
> if you like this fic please don't hesitate to let me know through kudos or comments! I appreciate both a lot ♡


	9. lest you end up bested

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> truly stretching the limits of "(Implied)" here

"Betty!", Veronica called out when she felt Betty's hand slip from her grip but as she reached for her, there was nothing. Betty was gone and so were the Plains of Pain. Veronica was…. somewhere else. It didn't smell as bad here, wherever _here_ was, and Veronica was grateful for that. It was no fresh breeze, this was still hell, but there was less sulfur in the air. Also, the hazy fog that had hung over the plains was gone. Instead, she found her vision impaired by the dimness of her surroundings. There wasn't much to see, really. She was at a crossroads, each tunnel just wide enough for two people to walk side by side. The brown stone walls reached up into darkness. She couldn’t make out where the paths lead, they all seemed to end in black nothingness. She didn't question why she could see at all without any visible source of light. This was hell, things were bound to work differently down here. This reminded her a little of catacombs. Not her favourite kind of place, she preferred her basements alive and with alcohol.

Veronica frowned. Music came from one of the tunnels. She might not have been a fan of jazz but playing it in hell seemed a bit harsh. Since she had to go somewhere, she decided to follow the music. After a while, she came to another crossing; the jazz came from the tunnel to her right.

“Do you like it, _mija_?”, Hiram asked. “It's one of my favourite pieces.”

Veronica turned her head and there he was, standing casually between the stone walls, hands in his pockets. This was far from unexpected; still, Veronica was a little rattled. She didn't let it show.

“You're not real, Daddy. You're just some kind of… hellucination.”

She said this as much to reassure herself as to unsettle him. The first part worked, the second didn't. He just smiled and walked towards her. 

“Does that really matter, though? I look like him, I talk like him, all his memories, thoughts, and feelings are mine to explore. So, really, for all intents and purposes, I am Hiram Lodge down here.”

He was still smiling, an eyebrow slightly raised. She'd seen that expression on her father's face a million times, an expression that said: “I am better than you in every conceivable way. You know it. I know it. So why pretend otherwise.” Veronica had always hated it.

“So you’re basically hell’s shadow of Daddy?”

The hellucination hesitated for a moment, then nodded. In that case, there was only one important question left.

“If I hurt you, does he feel it?” 

He leaned his head sideways in curiosity. This definitely wasn’t her father. He would never be this open with his emotions. “And here I thought I'd have to tease the darkness out of you. No, he doesn't. I’m not actually connected to him; I only emulate him. But does that really matter? For what are you humans but an amalgamation of their thoughts and feelings?"

“Oh please, spare me the philosophy lesson. How do I get back to Betty?”

“Veronica Lodge—”

“Luna.” 

He didn’t correct himself but he’d definitely heard her. There was a smug grin on his face for a split second. He enjoyed getting under her skin.

“You are full of surprises. I could answer any burning question on your mind like 'Did you ever love me?' or 'Why did you send my ex boyfriend to hell?' and you go for the one thing I don't know.”

“Well in that case”, Veronica said and started walking away from him, “you're useless.”

“You wound me, _mija_ ”, he said. An echo from the past that Veronica ignored. She wouldn't dwell on things she couldn't change. She'd find Betty, they'd find the Dark Lord, and then they'd free Archie. She wasn't quite sure where Jughead fit into all this yet but they'd figure it out. Once she got to Betty, everything would be clearer. She hoped Betty was doing alright. Breathing again. 

The hellucination wasn't deterred by her quick pace and followed her. She could hear him a few steps behind her but she refused to look. He was just one of hell's little distractions.

“I know you're trying to do what you always do, only see what you want to see, ignore everything else until it's too hard to ignore. Well, _mija_ ”, he made it sound like an insult. It stung, as much as Veronica wanted it not to. “I'm afraid that won't be possible this time.”

She rounded a corner and found herself at a dead end.

“For you see”, Hiram said as Veronica walked past him into a different direction, down a different corridor. “Finding your way out of here will take a while. And during all this time, I will follow you and I will talk to you, whether you respond or not. Sometimes…” (How was she at another dead end already? She could have sworn she’d come this way.) “I will even take you on a trip to the past.”

Wind picked up as he said this which was pretty weird for an underground hell maze. The winds blew around her, making dust dance in front of her eyes until it took shape. Her father's study at the Pembrooke at night. It was as if she was there. This was impossible, the corridors of the maze were much smaller than this. And yet, she didn't walk into any walls as she went to see the portrait. It was of Hiram again, a new one. He'd put it up after she'd moved out and taken hers to hang behind her own desk. A knock at the door tore her from her contemplations.

“Come in”, Hiram said and Veronica noticed him by the fireplace for the first time. He blended in surprisingly well. Usually, her father was a presence in any room he was in, hard to ignore.

“You wanted to see me, Mr Lodge?”

She knew that voice without having to look.

“No”, Veronica said. “No, I don't want to see this.”

There was no reply. Veronica tried to walk away but whichever way she turned, she had the same view: Archie walking towards the chair, her father at the fireplace. Veronica wished the hellucination would come back, distract her with meaningless verbose talks. When Archie sat down, her father started his spiel. It was so easy to see through his act. He had planned this, every second of this. But Archie was hanging on every word as if Hiram was spelling gospel truths. Veronica wanted to grab his shoulders and shake him, to tell him that her father rarely did anything but lie.

“I need your help, Archie”, Hiram said, his destitute posture deliberate in a way that would have been comical if Archie hadn't earnestly replied: “Anything, Mr Lodge.”

“I don't need to see this”, Veronica said, because she didn't. She knew Archie was loyal to a fault, impressionable, eager to please. He also firmly believed in second chances. And third. And fourth. She'd loved him for all that and more. Once upon a time, Archie Andrews had been all that was good in the world; even now, he was better than most people. Despite her father's best efforts, Archie's core was unchanged, unbroken. It was that core, that quintessential _goodness,_ that made him forgive Hiram time and time again and that had, on the fateful evening Veronica was witnessing, lead to him asking: “What can I do?”

Veronica wished she hadn't been so hurt, had paid closer attention to Archie, especially in connection to her father. He had suffered so much under Hiram and yet her dad had been right when he'd claimed that Archie cared about him. Not only that, Archie respected him. It was not only apparent in the way he only ever called him “Mr Lodge” or “Sir” but also in his posture, his demeanour. Archie was making himself small, giving Hiram room for his performance; he let Hiram take the lead in the conversation, and waited patiently for his turn to speak. 

When her father leaned closer toward Archie and spoke almost in a whisper, Veronica had to close her eyes. She felt herself an intruder upon this private moment, almost voyeuristic and a little sick. The unsaid thing she didn't want to hear made itself known but she refused to acknowledge it. Maybe the hellucination had been right. She tended to look the other way when it came to uncomfortable truths. When she opened her eyes again, she just caught Hiram leaning back. Archie looked almost disappointed but his face was quickly back to attentiveness; you could see that, in this moment, nothing was more important to him than Hiram Lodge. Did he always look at Hiram like that when he spoke? No wonder her father found him fun to be around. There was something thrilling about being someone's center of the universe, if only for the duration of a conversation.

There were a lot of reasons Veronica hated her father. Top of the list, as she watched the scene unfold in front of her eyes, was Hiram making Archie believe he had a choice in this. As if he wasn't simply exploiting Archie's tendency to be “all self-sacrificing and such”. When Archie said: “With all due respect, Sir, but I think that's my call to make”, Veronica wanted to scream. Every action her father had taken, every word, had been calculated towards this end; to make Archie believe that he went to hell on his own volition. From where she was standing now (when had she moved? She couldn't remember moving), she could see Hiram smile. Once the hellucination appeared again, he would get slapped. Her father might not feel his pain but he said it himself: For all intents and purposes, he was Hiram down here. Might as well pay for what Daddy had done. 

Veronica didn't listen to her father's words on principle, most of it was filled with falsehoods anyway, but one thing caught her ear: “I need someone who is connected to me through blood.”

Archie rubbed his left palm and nodded as if it was completely natural that Hiram would come to _him_ in that case. For a short moment of terror, Veronica feared they might be related. If that had been the case, though, Hiram would have informed her; he had his faults but Veronica didn't believe he'd let her have an incestuous relationship. That still left the question of how exactly Archie was connected to Hiram by blood. A question for another time; she had bigger things to worry about.

As Hiram laid out the terms, Archie simply listened and nodded. Apart from the “connected through blood” thing, Veronica didn't learn anything new about her father's deal with the devil. Now that she saw how Archie had ended up down here, though, Veronica had to admit that convincing him to leave hell might be harder than she'd thought. In his eyes, he chose to go, fully aware of the consequences. If he left, he'd be backing down from a promise and Archie Andrews rarely backed down from a promise. 

Hiram went to the bar and said: “One last drink, Archie, for old time's sake?”

Archie hesitated. That was interesting. Until now, he'd always answered Hiram at once, ready to do whatever he asked.

“I… shouldn't, Sir.”

Hiram poured two glasses and Veronica would have slapped one out of his hands if she could.

“Oh Archie, aren't we beyond what we _should_ and _shouldn't_ do?”

Archie shrugged and Veronica wondered if this nightmare would ever end. She felt as if she'd been watching them for hours, her heart bleeding for Archie while she grew ever more furious at her father. If she had felt conflicted about condemning him to an eternity of suffering before, she didn't anymore.

Hiram patiently waited in front of the fireplace, two drinks in his hand, for Archie to get up and approach him. The illusion of choice. He'd perfected it. What choice did Archie truly have, at this point, apart from doing as her father so obviously wanted? He still hesitated but in the end, Hiram's faux encouraging smile won out. Veronica didn't remember sinking to the floor, she only knew that she was sitting, arms wrapped around her legs, waiting for this to end.

“Thank you. It would be somewhat depressing to toast to your… departure alone. Now,” Hiram raised his glass, “to Archie Andrews, the bravest man in Riverdale.”

Archie looked down into his glass, shoulders slumped. That changed when Hiram touched his shoulder, leaned in, and all but whispered: “The only one I can always count on.” At once, Archie relaxed and smiled, leaning into the touch ever so slightly. He drank his liquor in one go.

It was only a moment, a short one at that, but it destroyed the illusion Veronica had constructed for herself; she’d desperately tried to ignore the words between the lines, to not hear what was unsaid. _“Fun to be around, you know.”_ She knew her father was evil, "the devil incarnate", as some liked to say. And yet, there were things she put past him, things she thought even _he_ wouldn't do. Things like… this. The way Archie was still smiling into his now empty glass. Hiram placing his hand on Archie's lower back and whispering something into his ear. Veronica had to get out of here. She jumped up and shouted: "I have a question!"

She was loud enough to drown her father's whisper out and the howling wind did the rest. It slowly dissolved everything into the dust from whence it came. The last thing Veronica saw was her father, hand on Archie's lower back, leading him God knows where. Then, she was back in the stone maze. 

Veronica wished she had a moment to breathe, to process all that she'd seen. That wasn't possible, though. The hellucination was there, leaning against the wall, smirking. Veronica walked up to him and punched him. Her hand stung but the startled look on his face felt good. 

“Once again you surprise me, Miss Lodge”, he said, rubbing his cheek. 

She didn't even bother to correct him this time. 

“I foolishly assumed you'd be more…. civil.”

“Fuck you.” Veronica did not have the patience for this right now. “Was that… real?”

The hellucination was smiling again. “You have expressed your dislike for 'philosophy lessons' before, so I will answer the question you meant to ask. You weren’t actually in your father’s study, obviously. But everything I show to you took place just as you see it. It is true.”

“You could be lying”, she said.

The hellucination grinned. “Now where would the fun in that be? No, _mija_. Lies give you comfort, they give you a way out. You can always claim ignorance. Hide behind the lies you tell yourself. So within this maze, you will only hear the truth.”

Veronica didn't want to believe him but his words made too much sense not to. She took a deep breath to accept this new fact of her life. Then she said: “I have another question.”

He motioned for her to go ahead.

“How long have Daddy and Archie been…”

She didn't quite know which term to use, so she echoed her father's words. 

“...business partners?”

“Business partners?”, Hiram asked and Veronica nodded. “Depends on how you define it but… on and off since your high-school days.”

Veronica stumbled backwards and slid down the wall. Since their high school days. She recalled something her father had said when she last saw him. “Without you, I never would have met Archie Andrews.” He'd been right. If it weren't for her, Archie and Hiram would never have crossed paths. All that had happened to Archie through the years, by her father's hand, could be traced back to that time, years ago, she'd invited her friends over to watch _Matchelorette._ Oh, it felt like a lifetime had passed since then. A cacophony of emotions raged within her, incomprehensible, all-consuming. If she stayed like this she would lose her mind. So she focused on one thing, a familiar emotion, louder than the rest: fury. She was irate. Her rage would carry her through hell, to Betty, then to Archie. She'd make her father pay for what he'd done, right his wrongs as much as she was able to. Without another look at the hellucination, she got up and started walking.

“This again?”, he asked. “Haven't you figured out that wherever you go I follow? You can't get rid of me, _mija._ ”

“I'm not running away from you. I just don't see why we can't do… whatever you're doing while walking. I need to find Betty.”

“I suppose we can walk and talk at the same time, though I do prefer more serenity when it comes to big revelations.”

“Tough tiddies, because I won't stop walking until I find Betty.” Contrary to her bold declaration, she stopped for a moment and turned around. This had to be said to the hellucination’s face. “And I swear to all that is holy, if you send me into the past right now, I will find a way to kill you.”

The hellucination laughed. “Oh, this is going to be so much fun.”

Veronica could have punched him again. Instead, she turned back around and walked on.

* * *

So many dead ends. So many uncomfortable truths. Veronica was exhausted. She wanted nothing more than to rest. That was impossible, though; for one, she needed to get to Betty. On top of that, whenever she slowed down, tried to take a rest, the hellucination plagued her with visions from the past. She’d seen more than she’d ever wanted to know.

The hellucination’s spirits were getting higher the lower Veronica’s got. She had punched him a few more times but she hadn’t been able to startle him again so she’d stopped. It took energy she didn’t have. Sometimes, like now, she simply tuned him out. It didn’t always work, he had a way to get his words into her head, but he was only talking about the evils she herself had done, how, even though she loved to pretend otherwise, she didn't have the moral high ground. Nothing new.

“But that raises the question, why change your name at all? I mean, you are a Lodge to the core. Simply calling yourself ‘Luna’ doesn’t change that.”

Veronica didn’t want to answer but she didn’t want to see yet another scene between Archie and her father, so she simply sighed and said: “I don’t want people to judge me before they even know me. The Lodge name is… loaded. We’re infamous, Daddy made sure of that. I never asked to be born a mafia princess. I just want a chance to be myself.”

“How far we’ve come”, the hellucination said. “I don’t just mean the miles we have walked. When we started out, you would have protested my assertion that a leopard by any other name still has the same spots.”

Mixing proverbs. How classy.

“Maybe you’ve just worn me down.”

A dead end. Of course. Veronica turned around with a sigh. She was getting a headache and since this was hell, there of course wasn’t any booze or aspirin.

“I know this is usually where you torment me with visions but could we… maybe skip the blast from the past, I’ve got places to be.”

She didn’t like the hellucination’s smile. Had her father smiled that much? Or was his smile, this smile, simply the worst of him? It didn’t really matter. This smile didn’t mean anything good. Veronica braced herself for the winds to pick up but the air stayed still.

“Very well”, the hellucination said. “Since you asked so nicely. But in return, I want to circle back to a topic you so vehemently blocked before.”

Veronica could think of at least five, one less pleasant than the other.

“Mommy dearest.”

Her headache increased. The hellucination was right, that was one topic she’d refused to even think about. Fortunately for her, he didn’t seem to have any memories with Hermione up his sleeve. All he had were her own worst moments and a seemingly endless arsenal of meetings between her dad and Archie. Neither of which she had time to look at if she ever wanted to get to Betty.

“What about her?”, she asked and started walking again. She knew where this was going. He would claim that Hermione was just as bad as Hiram, that Veronica excused her crimes simply because she needed one parent to hold on to. One of her parents had to be the “good one” and since Hermione is the one who left, it must be her. This was the good thing about having spent so much time with the hellucination; he was getting predictable.

“You forgave her that divorce awfully quick.”

Alright, maybe not completely predictable. “I, uh…”

“I shouldn’t be surprised; after all, you forgave me for trying to frame your boyfriend for murder and conducting him into an underground prison box ring, not to mention the several murder attempts.”

Veronica didn’t know what to reply. She had been prepared to defend her mother but the hellucination had taken the wind from her sails. She preferred when the hellucination talked of Hiram in the third person instead of pretending to be him. Whenever he referred to her father’s actions as his own, called her “mija”, she almost forgot that he was not actually Hiram Lodge. He was an illusion. A shadow.

“I’m starting to wonder if there is anything you won’t forgive, a line that cannot be uncrossed; of course you were mad at me before this whole business but we both know that it was only a question of time until you moved back into the Pembrooke. So how will you feel once I am truly here? After you are back and have condemned me? I will be gone. You cannot confront me; your anger will fester within you until it rots your soul. And if you decide to let go, forgiveness and love will take its place, because that’s how you work, Ronnie. You are incapable of ambivalence towards those who have a place in your heart. We’ve done this dance too many times to count. Are you ready to let it end?”

He believed she could do it. She could free Archie. There would be an _after_ , she could get out of this.

“I thought you wanted to talk about my mother”, Veronica said.

His steps faltered. He was back to his regular pace almost at once but Veronica had noticed it. Finally, a little triumph. She enjoyed unsettling his pace, doing things he didn’t expect. It made her feel like she had some power, even down here. Veronica Lodge was not to be toyed with.

The hellucination shrugged. “You already know almost everything I could tell you and that’s no fun. You tend to give your mother the benefit of the doubt because she hasn’t been actively involved in any petty feuds with your friends but the truth is that Hermione Gomez is evil, immoral and self-serving; she might have more of a conscience than your father but let’s be honest, that’s not hard. And even is questionable; she didn’t leave him for the things he’s done to other people, she left him for the things he did to _her_. She was tired of playing his games so now she’s playing on her own. Much like you.”

Veronica nodded, but she had to protest one aspect: “I stopped playing games when I moved out. I was just living my life, running two and a half _legitimate_ businesses and keeping an eye on Daddy’s dealings. We weren’t even on speaking terms.”

The hellucination raised an eyebrow at Veronica stressing “legitimate”. Well, if the FBI had come knocking at her door looking for dirt she would have been in trouble but she hadn’t broken any serious laws in a while.

“Didn’t we already cover this, _mija_? Your dramatic antics are part of the game.”

Veronica wouldn’t call “running a business” “dramatic antics” but he might have a point about the fight she and her father had gotten into, before everything. She increased her walking pace.

“And let’s not kid ourselves, you did a lousy job at keeping an eye on me. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here.”

He was right. She’d had the same thought. This whole thing was her fault, even more so than all that had come before. She should have fought harder to keep Archie out of everything but she’d been sixteen and stupid and in love. What excuse did she have now? She’s stayed in Riverdale to stop her daddy’s shady dealings and now she was in hell. Worse yet, Archie was in hell. Had been for a while now. _“Hard to torture more than he’s already torturing himself?”_ Her throat closed up when she thought about it for too long so she simply didn’t. The guilt, though, weighed heavily on her and wouldn’t be brushed aside as easily as her thoughts. Archie’s suffering was her father’s fault, yes, but it was just as much her own.

“You wanna know what I am wondering?”, he asked.

She was glad that he was in a chattery mood, apparently. Usually, when she refused to talk about something, he sent her into the past. Still, she pretended to be displeased when she said: “No, but you’re going to tell me anyway.”

“You know me so well.” The smugness vanished from his voice when he asked: “If you had been at the Pembrooke when the traitor and her brother came by, would you have helped them?”

“Without a question”, Veronica lied. She didn’t want to contemplate that; he would make her.

“I don’t know the truth about hypotheticals, of course. But I know you, Veronica. You hold grudges. Maybe you would have asked your father. Maybe he would have told you. But would you be here? Wouldn’t you think that Archie Andrews… got what he deserved for breaking your heart?”

“No, I wouldn’t.”

Wind picked up and Veronica soon found herself at the entrance to Dilton’s bunker. She knew very well what was about to happen. This wasn’t the first time she was stuck in her own body, forced to relive one of her worst memories.

“Trust me”, her mouth said. “I’ve got a sixth sense for this kind of thing. I’m sure we’ll find them playing cards or something like that.”

Jughead simply unfastened the door.

“Ladies first.”

Why had he sent her in first? Just because she’d dared to believe that Archie and Betty were better than this?

She descended the ladder and heard scuffling. Veronica remembered how her heart had sunk at the sound of rustling fabric, whispers she couldn’t quite make out. Still, she had hoped that maybe Jughead was wrong. That there was a harmless explanation for the weird behaviours they had both noticed. She walked slowly down the tunnel; there was no rush. Despite all the time she had given them, neither Archie nor Betty were fully dressed when they came into view. Veronica didn’t say anything. Instead, she took the scene in. There were a lot of candles because of course they were. Couldn’t have a rendezvous without candles. Archie was looking at her with puppy dog eyes. The effect was a little marred by his bare abs, fresh scratch lines at his side, and him wearing his pants inside out. Betty was clutching the blanket; the only thing piece of clothing she wore was Archie's shirt. Her clothes were strewn about the room; Veronica found the bra flung over a chair especially poignant.

She was aware of Jughead entering the room behind her, but she didn’t turn to look at him. She only had eyes for Betty and Archie who had both broken her heart. Even though she had lived this moment many times by now, she was still surprised by how frozen it was. None of them spoke. It was as if they didn't quite know what to do, now that the thing they'd all been afraid of had happened. Veronica wondered, not for the first time, if things would have changed if she'd reacted differently. But the hellucination didn’t deal in hypotheticals so her body turned around and walked away. The spell was broken. 

“Ronnie!”, Archie called out at the same time Jughead asked, incredulously: “How _could_ you?” 

A good question. One Veronica still didn't know the answer to. She hadn't wanted to know, back then; the reasons were irrelevant. The only thing that mattered was what they had done.

“Veronica, _please_!” 

Betty's voice stopped her in her tracks. Calmly, she turned around and said, voice frosty as winter's blow: “You are all dead to me.”

She left them to their fighting, their futile apologies. The ice around her heart wouldn't thaw for quite some time. Then, she was back in hell. She simply continued walking. She wished she was used to the pain by now, the sting of betrayal, the utter sadness that made her want to curl into a ball and cry her heart out. When it had first happened, Veronica had returned home and not left her room for days. Her parents, despite their fights, supported her best they could. She hadn’t told them at first, almost afraid of what her father might do to Archie if he ever found out. She knew now that the fear had been justified.

The hellucination picked up where he'd left off: “You said it yourself: They were dead to you. You didn't care about them anymore, any of them.”

“That's not true”, Veronica said. Then she stopped in her tracks and turned around. “That's not true”, she repeated. “It's factually not true. I _tried_ not to care, of course. And I hated them, oh, how I loathed them. But you said it yourself: I am incapable of ambivalence towards those who have a place in my heart. I am doomed to care.”

The hellucination frowned.

Veronica looked around. She'd been so focused on setting one foot in front of the other and keeping the tears at bay that she hadn't paid any attention to her surroundings. The walls weren't as close anymore, the corridors not as narrow. She was out of the maze. On her way to get Betty. And best of all, she didn't have to believe a thing the hellucination said anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> consistent chapter length?? in MY fic?? no. anyway, this is one of my favourite chapters I've written for this fic, I simply love veronica. what do you think, dear reader? (this is what is known as a "call to action". pls leave comments.)
> 
> if you celebrate protestant/catholic christmas, I hope you survived the holidays!


	10. torn to shreds

When everything went to hell, metaphorically as well as literally, Jughead only had time to turn his head towards Betty coughing her lungs out, her hand slipping from his grasp, until he found himself… somewhere else. The Plains of Pain, as Dorian Gray had called the wasteland filled with suffering sinners, were nowhere to be seen. Jughead still couldn't believe he'd met Dorian Gray. The inspiration was even more beautiful than the work itself, as hard as that was to believe. He was probably filled with the wildest tales. Maybe Jughead would get a chance to hear some of them one day. For now, though, he was in hell. It certainly looked like hell, rivers of fire, smell of sulfur, heat; he couldn’t see any people but he could hear screaming, not from any direction, just a general sense of suffering that hung in the air. He was almost disappointed by how cliche it all seemed.

He had to decide what he wanted to do next. Sabrina had said that they should attempt to find the Dark Lord but that had been under the assumption that the three of them would embark on this perilous journey together. Now, though, he was on his own and he assumed the same was true for Betty and Veronica. Should they try to find each other? Would that be a waste of time? So many questions but if he didn’t find an answer, he’d never get anywhere.

“I’m sure Betty’s gonna be okay”, he reasoned and decided to find Satan’s throne room or wherever the Dark Lord was. They’d meet there. He was sure of it. As he made his way through fiery fields, he wondered when he’d see his first demon. It was probably inevitable. Would they look like Satan, just a person in a suit? Or would they look like the monsters demons were usually painted as?

After a while, he stopped to examine the terrain. Nothing had changed. That was the issue. He could have sworn he’d seen this column before. Walking in circles should be impossible given that he hadn’t rounded any corners. Still, this area seemed eerily familiar and Sabrina had said that space and time worked differently down here. To test his theory, he took his serpent knife and methodically scratched a J into the stone. If he saw it again, he’d know he was treading the same ground and would have to find some way to escape. Satisfied, he walked on. He wondered how long he’d have to walk. He didn’t mind being alone; he was used to it. It wasn’t that he didn’t have his people; he had the serpents, his dad, Jellybean, and, to a degree, Betty and Alice. But something had broken within Jughead when he had lost both of his best friends through their betrayal that night. Even though Betty was back in his life, it wasn’t the same. He felt himself separate from those who, before, he felt kinship with. Leaving town for half a year hadn’t really helped. Toni had been a worthy Serpent Queen, forming the Serpents into more of a family than they’d ever been, the backbone of what was left of the Southside. When Jughead had returned for his dad’s wedding, he’d felt superfluous, he still did. Life in Riverdale had gone on without him, had moved past him. Now, nobody needed him; not the serpents, not his dad, not his former best friends. So, really, it was easier to be like this, alone; he preferred it over superficial company.

“Are you sure about that, Jug?”, Archie asked, sitting on a stone plateau in the middle of one of the fire rivers without a care in the world as geysers of lava erupted around him.

Jughead stared at him. The guy looked like Archie. But he couldn’t be, could he? That would be too easy. Maybe being direct was the way to go, so Jughead asked: “Archie? Is it… is it really you?”

Archie (or the thing that looked like Archie) laughed. “Who knows!”

He got up and jumped over the flames until he was standing on the same ground as Jughead.

“Nice to see you again, Jug. It’s… been a while.”

Jughead was pretty sure this wasn’t Archie. The awkwardness that had hung over them the last time they’d talked was missing, Archie’s obvious discomfort. _Maybe_ hell had made Archie forget about his guilt but Jughead very much doubted that.

“Are you going to, I don’t know, stab me now or something?”

The thing that looked like Archie frowned, puzzled. “Why would I do that? No, I just thought you’d want some company.”

“You’re wrong, I was doing fine on my own.”

“Well, in that case I’ll just leave you to your dark inner workings and make myself scarce.”

He didn’t move. Jughead sighed. With every moment he was growing more assured that this wasn’t Archie.

“So what are you? A demon? A figment of my imagination?”

The imposter placed his hand on Jughead’s shoulder and looked into his eyes.

“I assure you, I am very, very real.”

Jughead was growing uncomfortably flushed under that familiar stare. He slithered away from fake Archie’s grip and said: “Well, you’re definitely not Archie.”

“What gave it away? The lack of groverling?” He sighed. “I knew I should have groveled but I like to preserve at least some of my dignity, you know? Also, I think you should just get over it. Everyone knew it was only a question of time. Let’s not kid ourselves, what Bughead had was a fantasy, nothing more. You and Betty were not meant to last. The incident just helped it along.”

The imposter might not have been Archie but hearing these vicious words form his former best friend’s mouth still hurt.

“Yeah, well”, Jughead said. “She could have broken up with me before hooking up with my best friend at least.”

“And yet she didn’t have to do much groveling, did she? Are you that scared of being alone, Jug?”

Jughead leaned against a stone column and crossed his arms over his chest.

“What should I have done, in your opinion? Our parents got married. We live together.”

“Oh, you call dropping by once a while ‘living together’?”

Jughead sighed. This conversation was more annoying than anything else. The imposter wasn’t saying anything Jughead hadn’t thought a thousand times before.

“Talking to you is about as fun as watching _The Sopranos_ backwards but I’d appreciate it if we could wrap it up soon. I’ve got places to be, people to see.”

“Not sure if His Lordship counts as a ‘person’ per se. But I could lead you part of the way to his throne room if you want?”

It was probably pretty foolish to follow an imposter of unknown origin through hell. And yet, if there was a chance, shouldn’t Jughead take it? Maybe this imposter would lead him astray but he might also help. Cautiously, Jughead took the being that looked like Archie up on his offer. It was easy to pretend the figure walking next to him really was Archie. He didn’t just look like him; he walked like him, talked like him. Memories of times long passed rose in Jughead’s mind and it would have been all too easy to embrace the nostalgia and get swept away. But Jughead wouldn’t give in. He had to stay aware that this wasn’t Archie. The real Archie was somewhere down here, being horribly tortured; Jughead quietly wondered why the same fate hadn’t befallen him. Talking to a slightly meaner version of his former best friend didn’t quite count as torture, in his opinion. But it was better to let gift horses lie.

After a while, the imposter asked: “Isn’t this nicer than dwelling on the fact that nobody wants you?”

Jughead hated to admit it but it really was. He was about to reply when noticed something and held up his hand. “Wait.”

It was the familiar column. He approached it and sure enough, the J was there. Jughead didn't know why he felt betrayed. He hadn’t even trusted the imposter, not really; he’d known this was a long shot. Still, he’d deluded himself into thinking the guy was actually helping him. Just because he wore a face that Jughead would trust with his life.

“Oops”, the imposter said. “Must have taken a wrong turn somewhere.”

“We’ve been walking in a straight line.”

The guy shrugged. He looked genuinely apologetic, an expression Jughead had seen in these features many times before. He wanted to shout: “You are not Archie!” This was just an imposter. An unhelpful one at that.

“You know what-”

“Would you believe me if I told you that I was keeping you safe?”, the imposter asked. He looked so earnest in that moment, so much like Archie. It broke Jughead’s heart that he wasn’t.

“And why exactly would you do that?”

Again, a shrug. “Can’t a demon be nice? He loves you, you know. Really loves you. I’ve spent so many eternities with him that I seem to have developed a bit of a soft spot for you.”

A dizzying onslaught of information. Jughead knew he didn’t have time to process all of it, so he grabbed the most central parts and disregarded the rest.

“Can you lead me to him?”, Jughead asked. “To Archie, the real Archie?”

The urgency in his own voice surprised him.

“No can-do, honey-boo.”

That, from Archie’s mouth, sounded wrong on so many levels that Jughead pulled a face. Undeterred, the demon went on: “Orders from below. Can’t disobey the big boss. Well, I could but you’re not worth it.”

“So what _can_ you do?”

The demon approached him and said in a low voice: “I can protect you, Jughead. You don’t want to go out there. There are so many dangers on the way, old enemies out for blood. So, really, it’s better for you to stay here.”

Jughead felt the stone column press into his back as he tried to put distance between himself and the demon who was definitely not Archie because Archie had never made him this uncomfortable.

“You expect me to spend an eternity walking around in circles with only a demonic copy of my best friend as company while he is suffering? All because there might be _dangers_ on the way?”

“I don’t have to be him, if that’s the issue”, the demon said. He stepped back, gave Jughead room to slip away. Jughead stopped in his tracks when he heard a loud crack and turned around. He watched in shock as the demon pulled at his own skin, molding his features. He could hear the bones in the body break, heard the squishing of meat being rearranged. The demon pulled Archie’s red hair from his skull, familiar blonde hair growing in its stead. At last, he ripped apart the clothes he’d been wearing and was standing in front of Jughead, a splitting image of Betty. Jughead was frozen, unable to move his body.

“I could be her”, the demon said in Betty’s voice, then the features started to change again. This time, less viscerally. “Or her.” Veronica. The clothes had stayed the same. “Or even…”

The demon grew, bones cracking, skin tearing into bloody shreds that fell to the floor and disappeared as soon as they hit it.

“You.”

That was the most disgusting thing Jughead had ever seen. He stepped back in horror as the demon walked towards him.

“I know you, Jughead Jones.”

Every fibre of his body was screaming. This was wrong. Hearing his own voice like this felt as if someone was clawing his brain out from his ears.

“You want to speak of suffering? You have had your fair share. Don’t you deserve a break, some rest? Here, you have an eternity to simply be. You wouldn’t have to be alone, I could be with you! I can be all you need. I could get you a typewriter so you can work on the grand American novel. What can you do out there, really? You know yourself how utterly useless you’ve become. Superfluous. With Betty and Veronica, nothing can go wrong; they’ll get Archie out of here, with you or without you. They don’t need you. Nobody needs you, not out there. There is no place for you in the world. This is your place, Jughead. Stay here. Stay with me.”

Jughead had stepped back as far as he could without falling into a river of hellfire. The demon was still approaching him. His beanie truly looked stupid. He couldn’t believe people just let him wear that without making fun of him. That wasn’t the issue here but it was hard not to notice. He should really focus on the possessive demon who looked like him coming towards Jughead, hellbent on keeping him in this particular pocket of hell for all eternity.

The demon was dangerously close now, Jughead could see creases in his own face he’d never noticed before. Instinct took over and Jughead punched him hard enough to knock a human out. Then, he ran. Fuck fight or flight. He’d fight and flee. Even though he’d never been athletic, running away wasn’t that hard; if he had to choose between running and dying, between running and failing to save Archie, he chose running. And so he jumped over rivers of hellfire, coming dangerously close to being burned to a crisp by an erupting geyser more than once. The heat seemed unbearable, his clothes were drenched from sweat but he kept running until he reached a wall. That was new. So far, it had all been pillars and columns and rivers and rocks. This, though, was a concrete wall. Jughead looked over his shoulder. The demon was coming after him, but he wasn’t running. He was simply strolling through the hellscape. Jughead couldn’t look at him for too long. It was grotesque, seeing himself like this.

Now that he was no longer running, he was starting to get dizzy and his throat screamed for just one sip of water. He knew he wasn’t actually dehydrated, his body was in a kind of hell stasis; still, he felt parched. He couldn’t just keep standing here. With one last look behind him, Jughead decided to go along the wall.

He came to a door. Who knew hell had doors? Maybe it wasn’t as cliche as Jughead had thought. When he tried to open the door, he pulled his hand back with a pained yelp. The knob was scorching. To open the door, Jughead would have to burn his hand. He stared down at the doorknob as if it held another answer. That’s how the demon found him, standing in front of the door.

“I won't stop you from leaving”, he said when he was in earshot. “But I can tell you that opening that door will be pretty painful. Not the worst we have to offer but it’s up there. If you were in your realm, you could never use your hand again afterwards.”

“Thanks for the encouragement”, Jughead said sarcastically.

“If it were up to me, you’d stay here. My offer still stands but once you open that door I can no longer protect you, Jughead.”

It was still beyond strange to hear his own voice, to see himself in a way he was never meant to.

“Could you… maybe change into someone else? Until I gather my courage and leave, I mean. You looking like me is rather kafkaesque.”

The demon hesitated but then he said: “Sure.”

Jughead looked away this time. The noises were enough. When he turned back around, he was standing face to face with Archie again. It served as fresh motivation to get through that door. What was an unusable blistered hand against everything Archie had probably gone through? He took a deep breath and reached for the doorknob.

* * *

Jughead had screamed as his whole hand was engulfed in a searing pain that seemed to swallow him whole. He couldn't remember how he got through the door. He only remembered the pain, the echo of which still resided in his hand. He'd been walking for a while now, the demon beside him. His fingers could move again and some of the burns were already fading.

Surprisingly, the demon wearing Archie’s face wasn’t the worst company. They mostly traveled in silence that was usually broken by one of Jughead’s many questions which the demon readily answered. He now knew more about hell than before and yet it felt as if, with every new piece of knowledge, his comprehension of the place shrunk.

“Don’t sweat it, human minds simply aren’t built for this”, the demon had said.

Jughead was taking the lead; he couldn’t trust the demon, not after being led astray before. Sabrina had said that, eventually, they would get to wherever they set their heart to, so Jughead simply went straight ahead, no matter how difficult the terrain. They were climbing up a steep hillside to get to the other side when it occurred to Jughead that he didn’t know the demon’s name. The demon seemed surprised when Jughead asked for it.

“My name?”

“Yeah. I mean, we’re literally going through hell together. It’s weird that I don’t have anything to call you cause I can’t really use ‘Archie’, can I?”

“I wouldn’t mind that.”

“I would.”

The demon contemplated for a moment, then he said: “My true name would make your ears bleed and might cause your head to explode, but you can call me Luriel.”

Jughead nodded. “Luriel.”

Luriel smiled shyly and Jughead smiled back. Maybe it was just because he looked like Archie but a wave of affection washed through Jughead. He was so distracted by Luriel’s smile that he tried to pull himself up with his injured hand. Not smart. Against his own volition, his fingers let go off the rock he’d been holding a moment before and he was falling. Luriel called his name but could only watch as Jughead plunged into the depth.

On the one hand Jughead was glad that he couldn’t die, wouldn’t die. On the other hand, falling onto an uneven stone floor from a height of several feet really really hurt. He couldn’t move. Several of his bones were probably broken. He might have been impaled. He attempted to stop breathing to maybe lessen the pain but that just sent his mind into a panic. Panic was not good so he continued taking shallow breaths. He had to remain calm. Jughead closed his eyes and tried to take stock of his body. He couldn’t feel his legs. Bad. Couldn’t walk through hell and save your best friend without your legs. His right arm moved without issue. It hurt, of course, but there was no part of his body free from pain. His right hand seemed as fine as before apart from a new sting. He’d probably torn it open when he’d let go of the stone. He was still keeping his eyes closed. He didn’t need to see the blood he was probably drenched in. Left hand. Thumb seemed to be alright as was the index finger. When Jughead attempted to move his middle finger, though, a stab of fresh pain shot up his arm. He groaned. Alright. No middle finger. Ring finger and pinkie also weren’t willing to cooperate. Moving his wrist was okay, as long as he kept those three fingers perfectly still. Tears were rolling down the side of his face but he continued to take stock, lying flat on his back. He didn’t want to risk moving his head. Something was wrong with his spine and any movement could make it worse. He knew this wasn’t permanent and that he would heal but if his right hand was anything to go by it would take a while. Even though time worked differently down here, he still preferred to get Archie out an eternity sooner rather than later.

“Jughead!”

He knew it was Luriel. Still, Jughead’s heart skipped a beat when he heard Archie’s voice calling his name in such distress.

“I’m alright”, Jughead said. His voice betrayed him, it was raspy, weak. Talking hurt even more than breathing. He still kept his eyes closed. Seeing Archie’s face right now might end him.

“You’re going to be, I promise”, Luriel said. He whispered something in a language Jughead didn’t understand. The pain lessened and he was about to thank the demon when his mind started to slip away and he drifted off into unconsciousness.

* * *

The first thing Jughead noticed when he woke up was the smell of sulfur stinging his nose. The second thing was that he was in an actual bed. He tried to get up and groaned. His body was still mostly pain but at least he could feel his legs again.

“You’re awake!”

It was not Archie who was smiling down at Jughead right now, his face caught between relief and excitement. Jughead had to remember that. Luriel. A demon. Not Archie.

“Define ‘awake’”, Jughead said. Talking didn’t hurt as much anymore. Neither did breathing. Jughead carefully looked around. He could move his head. Good.

When he tried to sit up, Luriel rushed to his side to help him, his left hand steadying Jughead’s back, his right resting on the bed next to his thigh.

“Do you want some water?”, Luriel asked.

Jughead was about to gratefully accept when he remembered Sabrina’s warning. “Nice try, Luriel. I’m gonna be fine.”

The room he was in was spartanic, bare brimstone walls, only a desk with a chair in one corner and a wardrobe in another. A black curtain hung to the floor instead of a door..

“Where am I?”, Jughead asked.

Luriel wouldn’t meet his eyes when he replied: “My chambers.”

“Okay.”

Jughead had never really spent a thought on the living conditions of demons. The bed he was in was much bigger than even a king-sized human bed but apart from that, this looked like a pretty normal bedroom.

Luriel’s hand was still on Jughead’s back, steadying him. It didn’t really bother him but he was strangely aware of it. He cleared his throat and asked: “So are your… chambers by any chance close to where I have to go?”

Luriel shook his head. “I’m only a lower demon.”

Jughead nodded as if he knew what that meant. He had a bit of an idea but the metaphysical workings and demonic ranks of hell were incredibly complex. Luriel seemed almost embarrassed by his rank so Jughead encouragingly placed a hand on his and said: “Thank you. For not leaving me at the foot of that hill and for allowing me to sleep. I’m not fully healed yet but I think your spell or whatever got me through the worst of it.”

Luriel quickly got up and walked around the room. Was he… blushing? Jughead sure was. He tried to disrupt the awkward silence before it could suffocate them.

“So do all lower demons get a nice bed like this?”

As soon as the question left his mouth, Jughead regretted it. What was he doing? Usually, he was better than this. Where was his trademark sarcasm when he needed it?

Luriel still wouldn’t face Jughead and rubbed his neck nervously. “Yeah, my chambers are pretty standard.”

The silence was as awkward as before but Jughead didn’t dare try to break it. Who knew what would come out of his mouth.

“I managed to spell most of your clothes clean but I couldn’t save your jacket, I’m afraid”, Luriel said. “It was… torn up beyond repair.”

“Better my Serpent jacket than me.”

Luriel nodded but his expression was grim. Jughead didn’t want to imagine the state he had been in. 

“We should… probably get going, if you’re feeling well enough. Don’t want to let your… friend suffer longer than he has to, isn’t that what you always say?”

He looked almost sad as he said this but Jughead chose to ignore that.

“You’re right. Of course. Let me just…”

Slowly, very, very slowly, he attempted to get up. It hurt. He shouldn’t be standing yet. He should rest for a little while longer. But Luriel was completely right. Every moment Jughead wasn’t on his way to Lucifer’s throne room was a moment more Archie had to suffer. He’d simply bear the pain. It would get better, he would heal. Cold sweat was all over his body as he took his first steps. Luriel looked at him with concern. Another moment in which Jughead could almost forget he wasn’t Archie.

“You don’t look like you can walk very far.”

“I’m fine”, Jughead said through gritted teeth. Again, not very convincing.

Luriel’s hands fluttered close to Jughead, ready to catch him should he fall. They wouldn’t need to. Jughead could do this. He didn’t know what Archie had endured but it was probably worse than having to walk with bones not fully healed yet. So he would do this. For Archie.

“Let’s go.”

Luriel obviously wasn’t convinced but he nodded.

* * *

They moved at an excruciating pace. Luriel was steadying Jughead after he’d almost fallen more than once. Jughead was grateful for the help but his hand on Luriel’s arm reminded him of their awkward moment in the demon’s chambers. He had bigger things to worry about, of course, but somehow that moment wouldn’t leave his mind. They talked more this time around. It helped to distract Jughead from both the agony of his body and the weird paths his mind was taking. He started telling Luriel about his family. His dad who’d turned his life around, JB, the coolest teen he knew; Charles, his half brother who had come into his life late but was nonetheless an important part of it. Fangs and Sweet Pea, not related to him by blood but brothers nonetheless. Toni, his friend, his confidant. He regretted not telling her where he was going but would she have believed him? He didn’t mention Alice or Betty. They were part of his family but they were more loaded. He wanted to focus on those who always made him happy. Luriel, in turn, told him about his life, the eternities he'd . He left out the details which Jughead greatly appreciated. It was interesting nonetheless.

Sabrina had been right, time did move differently in hell. There was no feeling of its passing beyond the steps they’d walked. Once in a while, when Jughead’s breathing got especially heavy, Luriel forced him to take a break. “If you rest you’ll heal faster”, he said, or: “You won’t be of any use to… your friend if you step in front of His Lordship like this.” He was right, of course. Still, whenever they idly sat around, Jughead felt as if he was wasting time Archie didn’t have. He sometimes thought of the Riverdale they’d left behind, the town on the brink of being swallowed up whole by the megalomaniac Hiram Lodge. He hoped Sabrina kept her word and had an eye on things. And that Veronica hadn’t been mistaken in appointing Cheryl the town’s protector. She was very proficient with a bow but she was also easily distracted by personal vendettas. He couldn’t afford to worry too much about his family; he had to trust that they would be fine, otherwise his heart would be torn in multiple directions and that would not make him get through hell any faster.

“Some of my brethren are gonna talk, you know”, Luriel said during one of their breaks. They’d gone through different areas of hell, some worse than others, none of them places Jughead would fondly remember. Right now, they were sitting at the entrance of the Maze of Truths, as Luriel had called it.

Jughead raised an eyebrow. “Talk?”

Luriel looked down at his shoes. “There’s… usually only one reason a demon takes someone into his chambers.”

“Oh.”

Huh.

“Does that… bother you?”, Luriel asked and looked up again. Jughead once again wished that he wasn’t wearing Archie’s face. There was something more behind that question, behind those warm brown eyes. Jughead chose to ignore it.

“Does it bother me that a bunch of demons think we hooked up?” He shrugged. “I can think of worse rumors.”

Luriel laughed. It wasn’t a laugh Jughead had heard out of Archie’s mouth before; still, it filled Jughead with warmth and made him smile. He was starting to like the demon. Going through hell side by side truly forged a fast bond of friendship.

“Why haven’t we met any of them yet? Your brethren, I mean.”

“I… might be slightly influencing our path. Don’t worry”, he defensively raised his hands. “I’m truly just making sure we don’t cross through any busy territory. That’s all. I’m not leading you on a detour.”

Jughead hadn’t even worried about that. With a shock he realised that he trusted Luriel. For some reason, he trusted a demon.

“I am feeling much better now”, he said after a while. “In general, I mean. I can definitely still feel the fall, but I don’t feel like I’m being cut open and pierced with needles with every step anymore.”

“That’s great, Jughead.”

Luriel sounded almost gloomy.

“I don’t know if I can really walk on my own yet, though. Better not risk it.”

Luriel grinned. “Let's go then”, he said and reached down to help Jughead up. Then he frowned and motioned for Jughead to stay silent. Jughead barely dared to breathe. As he listened, Luriel’s frown morphed into something more serious: terror.

“She’s coming”, he said and without another word, he pulled Jughead up, swooped him into his arms and started to run into the maze.

“Who’s coming? Why are we running? Luriel, what’s going on?”

The demon didn’t reply, his face set in a grim expression. Jughead would have loved to know what was going on, who they were running form, but no matter how often he asked, Luriel didn’t answer. Jughead tried to catch a glimpse behind them but he couldn’t see anyone. When he said as much, Luriel finally slowed down. They were properly in the maze now, standing at a crossroads of four tunnels, each ending in darkness.

“I’m… sorry for just sweeping you off your feet”, Luriel said. “But remember those old enemies I mentioned back at the fields? Well… I wasn’t lying.”

“Sucks for me, I guess.”

Jughead could think of a few dead people he’d pissed off who might be in hell. That didn’t bode well for him.

“I think we managed to shake her off for now but-”

“You have to be quicker than that if you want to escape a cobra, Carrot Top.”

Penny Peabody. She came from the darkness, a knife in her hands, a menacing smile on her lips.

“Heyah, kiddo. Did you miss me?”

“You’re dead?”

Jughead was grateful that he could stand confidently without looking like death on legs.

Penny huffed. “No, I just thought I’d take a daytrip to hell for fun.” The sarcasm dropped from her voice as she continued: “Of course I’m dead. That’s what tends to happen when someone shoves a knife into your heart.”

“I’m sorry.”

Jughead didn’t know why he was apologising; it wasn’t really his fault and if anyone deserved to burn in hell, it was the snake charmer. Still, he was generally against murder and pro people staying alive and that extended to Penny.

“Wait”, Penny said and frowned. “I get why _you’d_ be here but what is _he_ doing here?”

She pointed at Luriel who still looked like Archie. She thought he was Archie. And she thought they were dead. Jughead’s heart sped up. Should he correct her? Lie?

“Beat it, Penny”, Luriel said. Jughead had gotten to know the demon well enough to see that he was now actively emulating Archie. Lying it was.

“Always the hero, Red.”

When Penny took a step towards them, Luriel put himself between her and Jughead.

“You can just leave, you know. It’s just Tapeworm I’m after.”

Jughead could think of a myriad of reasons but he still had to ask: “Why?”

“Oh, you know, side effect of Hiram Lodge whispering ‘Give my regards to the Serpent King’ into my ear as he stabbed me. Now, I don’t know what you did but you’re gonna pay for that. I will take this knife and slowly push it between your ribs until it reaches your heart. You might not die but it’ll still be pretty painful. That’s the last thing I’m gonna do, though. First, I will give you many, many scars.”

“Jughead. Run.”

Luriel didn’t have to say that twice. Jughead turned around and bolted down a tunnel. He looked behind only once to see if Luriel was following him. Fortunately, he was. Jughead couldn’t run as fast as he wanted, his legs had barely been able to walk not that many steps ago. He now knew why Luriel had swept him up. He was slowing the demon down and yet Luriel stayed between him and Penny, who was gaining ground..

Jughead ran through the tunnels at random, left, right, ahead, none of it mattered as long as he got away from Penny. She could hurt him with that knife, kill him. What made weapons powerful in hell wasn't their material; it was the intent with which they were wielded. Penny was out for revenge and if she caught him she’d get it.

“Left!”, Luriel shouted but it was too late. Jughead had turned right and found himself at a dead end. He couldn’t tread back, Penny was too close on their heels. Luriel caught up to him and whispered with intensity: “This maze is vicious, Jughead. You cannot get distracted. Your one and only thought has to be the Dark Lord’s throne room. Forget about the woman chasing you with a knife. She’s only a distraction. Forget about me. You are here to save Archie. Focus on the way and you will find it.”

“Don’t do this, Luriel”, Jughead said because this sounded dangerously close to a farewell.

“I can see why he loves you”, Luriel said, looking at Jughead wistfully, and then Penny came around the corner.

“Last chance, Red. I have my issues with you but I’m willing to forgive and forget, as they like to say.”

“I’m staying with Jughead”, Luriel said. Jughead’s throat grew tight. He knew he had a choice to make: Leave Luriel behind or die beside him. Even the two of them together were no match for Penny Peabody, angry, with a knife soaked in revenge, especially since Jughead was still far from top condition.

Penny shrugged. “Your loss.”

Luriel looked at Jughead with Archie’s kind eyes, tears swimming in them. “I… want you to remember me like this”, he said. “So don’t turn around. Please.”

Jughead nodded. “I…”

Penny lunged at him but Luriel shoved him aside. As Jughead fell against the wall, Penny’s knife slashed across the demon’s stomach and Luriel folded into himself reflexively.

“Just as well”, Penny hissed and went to stab at him again. Then, she stopped. “I don’t know much about hell biology, but shouldn’t you be bleeding red, boy?”

Luriel smiled. His expression sent shivers down Jughead’s spine, a threatening grin that looked unnatural on Archie’s face. Luriel was giving him an opening. Jughead would be a fool not to take it. It went against every fibre of his being to leave the demon behind; he was no Serpent but he had become a friend. Still, Luriel was right: Jughead needed to get out of here, away from Penny, to the Dark Lord’s throne room. If he didn’t arrive there, Betty and Veronica might waste precious time looking for him; they’d have to stay in hell longer, whatever “longer” meant in this context. Hiram Lodge would have more time to pull off his plans, Archie would have to suffer longer than he already had. So it would be really inconvenient for everyone if Jughead got stabbed to death by Penny Peabody. Slowly, he made his way past Penny, staying low.

“Well, Miss Peabody”, Luriel said. His bones started to crack, skin was tearing, his face distorting. Remembering his friend’s request, Jughead looked away. The rumbling voice that reached his ears was that of a stranger. “I am no boy.”

He inched towards the last intersection. Penny hadn’t spotted him yet, she was too focused on Luriel. As soon as he was sure to be out of Penny’s reach, he got up and ran, ignoring the commotion behind him. Luriel would be fine. Maybe demons couldn’t bleed out from a gash in their stomach. Maybe he could defeat Penny and get out of the maze in time to find a healer or something. He was going to be fine. With that belief set in his heart, Jughead started to head towards Satan’s throne room, never looking back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year y'all!


	11. dissected

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **This fic is now rated explicit and features graphic depictions of violence.** Have fun!

Time had lost all meaning. Even though the smell of home was only a memory, Betty still buried her nose in her scarf once in a while. She had been walking, ignoring what was going on around her, focused on the goal of her journey, as Sabrina had told her. As she walked, though, that goal became fuzzy, misdirected. She had to get to the Dark Lord. But her heart called out for the friends she’d lost, Veronica, Jughead, and Archie. And so her mind wandered in one direction while her heart wandered in another. No wonder she wasn’t getting anywhere. She was still on the seemingly endless plains. They reminded her of their family trip to the Death Valley, if the sky there had been a sickly orange colour, the air had smelled of sulfur and every few miles there had been a person bound to a pole, suffering. The trip had been her idea; she’d read about Death Valley at school and begged her parents to go until they’d relented. She still remembered the heat, the emptiness. That had been the first time she’d felt truly insignificant. She hadn’t liked it back then but once in a while, she found herself drawn back to that place where human life should not exist. Hell wasn’t much different in that regard, she supposed. She hoped she wouldn’t yearn for it once she got out, though. That would be a new low of self-flagellation.

Even in Death Valley, she hadn’t truly been alone. Her family had been by her side. Betty couldn’t remember the last time she hadn’t had anyone. Her soul was starting to ache along with her feet. There was not a single soul she could talk to, no one to hug, or get into a fight with, or just look at. The sinners (as she’d internally started to call them) didn’t count; looking at them was torturous. For the first time in her life, Betty was truly forlorn with no remedy in sight. And so she wandered on and on and on and on, one goal in mind and another one goal in heart.

Sometimes, she had to take breaks, sit there on the hot ground and rest. She kept those breaks as short as possible. Even though she was alone, even though she could turn around and never saw anything, she knew that she was being pursued. A distant shadow, only visible from the corner of her eye, gaining on her whenever she dared to give her body some time to heal. She didn’t need to sleep, fortunately. She wasn’t looking forward to the nightmares she’d inevitably have. Maybe sleep would have given time structure; right now, there was only “walking” and “not walking”. Exhaustion and pain. A scarf that smelled of sulfur, like everything else around here. Betty didn’t have time to cry, otherwise she might have. She only had time to wander and, sometimes, rest, at least for a little while.

Later, she wouldn’t be able to tell when it had changed, when the sand had shifted into a rust coloured mud that tried to pull her down. The pained sounds of agony shifted into a constant low moan, a rustling that almost sounded like wind. Betty didn’t notice it, she was too busy setting one foot in front of the other, focusing only on her goal: The Dark Lord. The last break had been a while ago but she didn’t want to stop; she’d seen it, properly, the shadow following her. Even now, it was visible when she turned around, at the horizon. It was too far away to tell if it was coming closer. Whenever she looked back, she heard the wind sigh: “Betty”. She paid it no mind. Sabrina had warned them to stay on the path. She wouldn’t be distracted by some cheap hallucination.

The first tree made her stop in her tracks. It _was_ a tree, no doubt about that, but it was not made from wood. The trunk looked like arms, entangled with each other so it was nearly impossible to tell where one stopped and the next began. Red liquid was oozing out of them at various places, seeping into the floor. The smell of sulfur had been replaced by the foul smell of an infected wound. Betty buried her nose in her scarf. At least it still smelled of sulfur. She decided to leave the trees be and continue on. Towards the Dark Lord. Maybe the change meant that she was on the right path. She was getting tired but neither the trees nor the mud were inviting her to sit down. At least the temptation to rest had now been almost eliminated. She couldn’t sleep anyway, so what use was slowing down when she had somewhere to be?

Since she didn’t have anything better to do and was getting dangerously bored, Betty started to count her steps. 24,601 steps later, she was still in this stupid forest. The Planes of Pain had been better. At least there had been a sky. And no blood rain. Some of the trees, it seemed, weren’t content with bleeding down their trunks but also released droplets from their foliage, usually when Betty was just below them. She wished she had brought a change of clothes. Maybe at some point she would come across a river that was neither blood nor hellfire and could take a bath. She doubted it, though. Once again, she wished for someone, anyone, to be there. She even considered slowing down so the shadow could catch up but when she looked behind, there were only trees. It was doubtful that her pursuer would give up so soon but Betty still didn’t really have anywhere to rest. It was terrible enough that she had to walk through this blood mud.

There weren’t even animals in this stupid forest. No sinners. Nothing but trees and blood and Betty. So when she heard another set of footsteps, heavier than her own, Betty stopped. So did the steps. They resumed after a tense silence. They weren’t coming from behind her, so it probably wasn’t her shadow. There was someone in this forest with her. Or something. Now that company was a possibility, Betty’s desire for it vanished. She didn’t know if whatever was coming towards her would try to harm her. Even though they were disgusting, Betty slowly shuffled closer to one of the trees to hide. The smell of rotting flesh intensified. She truly hated this forest. Up close, she could see that the arms were bleeding from wounds, some cuts, some scrapes, some seemed to be bites. None of them were in a good state. Betty closed her eyes for a moment to focus on the threat at hand. Steps. Unknown creature. Disgusting trees were irrelevant.

The creature looked like a person. A familiar person. Betty’s stomach sunk. She had no idea what would happen if he found her but their last meeting hadn’t exactly been great. 

He hadn’t noticed her yet but he was on the prowl, looking for the steps he’d heard. Betty leaned forward to see better, resting her hand at the tree for balance. She gagged and tried to keep the bile from climbing up her throat. It was one thing to know the trees were made from arms; it was another to feel the sticky yet slippery skin against her hand, yielding a little under her touch. The arm she was touching shifted. Betty wanted to scream but she couldn’t risk being heard, not when he was only a few steps away. The whole tree was moving now, moist skin rubbing against moist skin. He stopped and listened. Betty hid behind the tree, keeping space between her and the writhing arms. She knew he was looking over. For an eternity, there was no sound but her breathing and the squirming tree. The blood was rushing in her ears as she strained to make out what he was doing. A step in the mud, moist and heavy. He was coming towards her. Betty started to run and so did he. She couldn’t outrun him, she knew that. But she had to try.

The chase was cut short by an arm reaching up from the ground, holding Betty’s foot so she toppled over. She couldn’t even crawl away, not with the hand still wrapped around her ankle. All she could do was lie there as he came closer. She turned around. She wouldn’t be stabbed in the back. If he wanted to kill her, he’d have to do it face to face.

Slowly, without any hurry, he approached. He had her now. He crouched down and looked at her with his green eyes. Even through the hood, Betty could see him frown. He pulled the mask off, still looking confused.

“Betty?”

She smiled, glad to be save. For now. “Hi, dad.”

* * *

Running into her father in hell was weird but it was nice to talk to someone. He had a cabin in the forest where Betty didn’t get a shower but at least she got a change of clothes. She didn’t mind that they were a few sizes too big; at least they weren’t drenched in blood and mud. They hadn’t talked much on their way to the cabin, Betty crashing from the adrenaline rush and Hal… He was probably just asking himself what his daughter was doing here. 

The cabin was small, run-down. It had two rooms, the one they were in had a table with three chairs on one wall, a closet next to the locked door, and a bed in the corner. Betty didn’t really care to know what was in the adjoining room. She just laid down on the bed and rested for a while. Sleep didn’t come, of course. No sleep in hell. Still, lying down was nice, even if the bed seemed to poke her in all the wrong places, no matter which position she chose. Not walking was nice. When her thoughts started to wander, she got up and sat across her dad at the table.

“Nice place”, she said.

Hal smiled. “Beats the bachelor pad I was crammed into for a while. So. How did you end up here, Betty? Did you even end up here or am I just talking to a demon who’s stolen my daughter’s face?”

Interesting.

“No, it’s really me. I’m here to get Archie out.”

“The Andrews boy?”

The incredulity in his voice was almost funny.

“He got in over his head and now we’re trying to get him out, Veronica, Jughead, and I.”

She probably shouldn’t speak this openly, should keep some secrets. But it had been a long time since she last talked to anyone. Her solitude in hell felt like it had lasted a lifetime, making the last time she’d spoken to another person feel like a dream. She was a little out of practice, so the truth simply poured out of her.

“You still hang around with that scum?”

Betty wasn’t sure whether he was talking about Jughead, Veronica or both. Either way, she wouldn’t let him disrespect them like that.

“Says the man in hell for being a serial killer.”

Under her stare, the reply died on Hal’s lips. After a moment, he said: “I heard what you did to my grave. Didn’t think I’d have to fear vandalism from my own daughter.”

Betty shrugged. “Being the daughter of the Black Hood isn’t easy.”

“I can imagine”, Hal said, nodding.

He didn’t apologise. She hadn’t expected him to. Still, would have been nice.

“So what are you doing here, dad? Why aren’t you bound up and poked with sticks like the… people on the Planes of Pain?”

“Maybe I was put here to wait for you to arrive.”

She didn't buy that so she waited for him to say more.

“Hell is different for each sinner. Tailor-made, to give us the worst possible experience, make us think _'This is hell'_ over and over again. For some, that's eternally being poked with hot sticks by demons. For others…”

He trailed off and shrugged. Betty wanted to know more but she wasn’t here to find out about her father’s individual torment. She was here to save Archie. She'd already wasted enough time on resting.

“Do you maybe know the way to the Dark Lord’s throne room?”, she asked.

Hal blinked. “The Dark Lord’s throne room? What are you planning to do, Betty, just walk in there?”

The “throne room” part had been a shot in the dark. At least she now knew where she'd probably find Satan.

“He invited us”, she said.

“You have spoken to the Devil? And you are still alive? Are you sure?”

A million steps ago, this question would have made Betty laugh. Of course she was alive; she was on a quest to find Archie, save Archie, and get out, back to her real life. But she hadn’t eaten, hadn’t slept, knew if she got stabbed in the heart she’d probably heal. Her life before hell seemed like an intermission, like a breather before the real thing.

“My heart’s still beating.”

It would be rude to just get up and leave but Betty was getting antsy. She hadn’t told her dad about the shadow yet but every moment of rest brought the pursuer closer. Also, Hal's conversation wasn't engaging enough to keep the worry at bay. Her friends were in hell, all on their own. Both Jughead and Veronica could hold their ground and were used to solitude; they were probably fine. Or as fine as you can be in hell. Archie, on the other hand, had been suffering for eternities by now, if Betty's experience was anything to go by. Unlike her, Jughead, and Veronica, he didn't have a goal; he just had suffering. He didn't even know they were coming to his rescue.

“This has been nice”, she said. “But I have to get going.”

“I don’t know the way to His throne room, but I can lead you out of the forest”, Hal suggested, almost hopefully.

Betty didn’t fully trust him; he was a serial killer who had manipulated her in the past. The darkness within him probably hadn’t been illuminated by spending time in hell. Still, Betty was tired of walking alone. And her dad was better than no one. Also, she wanted to get out of this forest as quickly as possible. So she accepted his offer and hoped she wouldn’t regret it.

* * *

Ever since they started walking, she hadn't looked back. She was aware that the shadow was still following her, probably closer than before. But having her dad by her side made her feel safer in that regard. He was the Black Hood, he had a gun and a knife. She didn't know how effective those were down here but it made her feel good. Unless she pondered the opportunity of him trying to murder her. Once again.

On the plus side, he did seem to know the way. The trees were getting lighter, Betty could see the hideous sky again. Right now, though, she was contemplating whether it would have been better to walk on her own instead of tracking through this abominable forest with her deceased serial killer dad judging her life-choices. He was disappointed with her pulling out from Yale, couldn't believe that she still hadn’t embraced the darkness within, he thought she should have a stable job by now… Basically the same old tune as her mom’s snide comments. Just that Alice generally didn’t encourage her to commit murder.

“So you and that… Serpent boy…”

He’d wanted to call Jughead something worse, she could tell.

“We broke up a while ago.”

Hal nodded. “Very good.”

Betty was glad he didn't ask for reasons. Neither of her parents had ever liked her dating Jughead, in fact, she wasn't sure her mom liked him now. She didn't show it much but then again, she didn't often get a chance; Jughead wasn't around a lot. 

“You know”, Hal said after a while, “if you got married, became a mother—” 

“Dad.”

“I'm simply saying—”

“Don't.”

That, at least, was something Alice never chastised her for. Betty missed her mom. She missed the scarf. She'd left it at the cabin because it had been soaked in blood and mud like the rest of her clothes but right now, she would have loved a tangible reminder of _home_. Something to show that the life she'd left behind was as real as this one. Her contemplations were thankfully interrupted by Hal.

“I don't understand why you won't even consider it.” 

“What are you talking about?” 

He stopped. Betty was tempted to just walk on, to let him jog after her, but she might get lost. Even though the woods were thinning, the edge was not yet in view. She didn't want to risk running back deeper into them. So she, too, stopped.

“Marriage. Starting a family. Finally live your life!” 

Betty blinked. There was so much wrong with that statement.

“Okay, first of all, I don't want children. Or at least not now. I'm way too young!” 

“Your mother and I were younger than you when we had Polly.” 

She huffed. “And how did that turn out for you?”

“Elizabeth Cooper! Is that any way to talk to your father?”

If she rolled her eyes any harder she'd get dizzy. She wouldn’t even deign that with an answer. Instead, she said: “Second of all, even if I wanted kids, how the fuck would that be 'finally living my life'? What kind of backwards misogynist delusion are you living in, dad?”

“I'm not 'living' anywhere, Betty. I'm in hell for being a serial killer, as you're so fond of pointing out.”

Betty groaned in frustration and turned to walk on.

“DON'T YOU WALK AWAY FROM ME, YOUNG LADY!” 

At once, the trees grew restless and arms shot out of the ground to keep Betty in place. Okay, this wasn't good.

“If you don't give me the respect I deserve…”

He was approaching her, circling her. His knife was in his hands now. Bad. Very bad.

“…I will show you what my father would have done if I'd ever spoken to him like that.”

'He would have stabbed you?', Betty thought but she said: “You don't 'deserve' shit.”

Antagonising your serial killer dad while he was in a bad mood and circling you with a knife was incredibly stupid. But Betty was tired and fed up with his questions, with the way he assumed he still had any say over her life whatsoever. His shadow hung over her in the real world, she didn't need it in hell as well. They'd almost made it out of this disgusting forest and now he was throwing a temper tantrum. If she remembered correctly, he couldn't hurt her in a way that mattered; she'd get out of this situation alive and then he better run for his (after-)life. Because she would be coming for him and show him exactly what he “deserved”.

Hal was rambling on about respect, parental rights, womanly duties, but Betty wasn't listening; she was instead contemplating how to get ahold of that knife. The gun would be too quick, also probably not permanent. If she got these weird tree-arms to cooperate, she could hold him down. Since he was already dead, killing him would be complicated. CUtting off extremities was more efficient. It would slow him down and, better yet, it would be painful.

Hal was wrapping up his monologue with: “Now, daughter mine, will you revere me as you should?” 

Apparently, he’d lost whatever marbles he’d had left down here and gone completely insane.

“No, _father mine,_ I won't. As I said, you don't deserve shit. You forfeit your 'parental rights' the moment you put on that hood, hell, even before when you tried to force Polly to get an abortion. You are a terrible father and I am glad you are dead.”

Hal looked hurt. Good. She meant every word.

He shook his head, pulled the black hood over his head, and sighed. “Then you leave me no choice—”

He paused. “Is it… is it getting… dark?” 

Betty had noticed it too. Ever since she'd been constrained, the orange bits of sky had been cast over and darkness had crept into the forest. He had been very focused on his villain monologue if he only saw it now. If he was confused that meant whatever was going on didn’t have anything to do with his wrath. 

The arms holding onto her were retreating into the ground as Hal looked around. She only had a moment to decide. She could run or try to get that knife. She probably didn't have a chance to topple her dad. But he was standing close to one of the bloody trees. Betty ran at Hal, pushed him into the tree, and yelled: “Hold!” To her relief, the arms complied.

“Betty, what…”

“I'll be taking that”, she said, taking the knife from Hal's hand. “Thanks for the talk, dad, but I better continue on my own, don't you think?”

He didn't reply, eyes transfixed behind her. She knew what he was seeing. The shadow. It had caught up with her. It was responsible for the dim lighting, the way her father’s eyes were now widening. She wasn't scared as she turned around, she had adrenaline in her veins and a knife in her hands. Also weird hell trees by her side, apparently. She was prepared.

They looked at each other, appreaised one another.

“Nice outfit”, she said because she had to say something. She'd worn the same pullover and jeans combo for her descent into hell. Now, they were bundled into a corner at Hal's cabin.

The shadow laughed. “Can't say the same for you.”

It wasn't just _a_ shadow that had been following her - it was _her_ shadow. Her double. Her dark side, manifested into flesh. Betty wasn't under hypnosis and this wasn't Polly. Still, she couldn't help thinking of the Farm. She better not run into Edgar Evernever down here. Not that she wouldn't be able to handle him, he just wasn't part of her mission.

“Mind if we switch?”, Betty asked. Her shadow looked better than Betty did right now, as if she hadn't just been through hell. Her ponytail wasn't soaked in sweat, blood, and mud, and the outfit she was wearing was in pristine condition. She didn't exactly match Betty from about a million steps ago, though; the scarf was missing and she was carrying a knife, the same model as Hal's. The knife didn't scare Betty and neither did the shadow. Betty knew herself and was well-aware that she didn't keep the darkness at bay for her own sake.

Her shadow laughed. “Maybe once we're out of here.” For the first time, her eyes strayed from Betty's and she looked at Hal. “I didn't mean to interrupt, though. Go ahead, I can wait.”

Betty shrugged. “I was just going to leave him hanging there. I’ve had enough of him and I’ve definitely had enough of this forest.”

She didn't like the disappointed expression on her double's face. “But you had such a nice plan! Saw off his big toes since the whole foot would probably take too long, slash some of his knee's ligaments and, if you've got the time, also cut through his arm at the elbow. Why waste all that!” 

Betty was feeling a little sick as she replied: “I… have to find Archie. Get to the Dark Lord's throne room.” 

Her shadow shrugged. “Suit yourself. I'm gonna catch up.”

She walked past Betty and was now speaking to Hal.

“Now, where were we. Ah. I was about to show you what exactly you deserve.”

Betty didn't turn around when her father called out her name. She walked on as his shouts increased in panic until they were indistinguishable from screams of pain. As she came ever closer to the edge of the forest, Betty hoped her shadow wouldn't get any blood on her clothes.

She wasn’t foolish enough to hope her shadow wouldn’t keep her word. After she got out of the forest, she walked many steps on her own before her shadow said: “Now that was fun!”

There were blood splatters on the pullover. Pity. Betty was looking forward to clean clothes.

“Oh don’t be like that”, the shadow said. “I only did what you _wanted_ to do.”

Betty grit her teeth. “I didn’t actually want to do that. I just want to find Archie.”

“I thought you wanted to get to the Dark Lord’s throne room?”

Betty cursed. She’d gotten distracted, lost track of her goal. First the Dark Lord. Then Archie.

“Look, I know a place where you can wash your hair. Get a change of clothes. Freshen up. Or do you really want to appear before His Lordship like that?”

“Since you seem to know your way around, do you also know the way to where I gotta go?”, Betty asked, pretending to be more reluctant than she was. She didn’t have time for a detour. She’d already lost enough time with her dad. But she looked disgusting, smelt disgusting, felt disgusting. And her shadow had a point. Satan probably didn’t expect her to look respectable; still, Betty knew that appearances mattered. She wasn’t in the state to bargain for anyone’s soul like this.

“You know I could just lie, right?”, her shadow asked. “You’re a great liar which means that I’m a great liar.”

Betty had considered that, yes. But she needed the shadow to say yes, that she could lead Betty to the throne room, that, in fact, this wasn’t a detour at all, it was on the way. To give her permission for her selfishness.

When Betty didn’t say anything, the shadow just said: “Yes. I know the way. Do you want to go by the springs so you can get some of that grime out of your hair?”

* * *

What a difference a bath made! Her shadow had kept her word and found some new clothes for Betty. She didn't question where she'd got them. Wearing things that fit, things she actually had in her closet, Betty felt like herself again. Rejuvenated. As if the countless steps she’d taken through hell hadn’t happened. She was ready to walk into the Dark Lord’s throne room and do anything to free Archie.

“Definitely better”, her shadow said.

“Thanks. Now, do you actually know the way, or…?”

She wouldn’t even be mad if her shadow had lied; this bath had been for the best. As long as she’d ignored the drowning sinners, it had even been relaxing.

Her shadow laughed. Betty liked her laugh. Once she got out of hell, she should laugh more.

“I do. Just follow my lead.”

Betty knew she was walking into a trap. She was in, after all. Nothing could be this easy. Still, she followed her shadow away from the spring into yet another wasteland.

Now that Betty didn’t have to focus her entire mind towards the goal of her journey, it started to wander. There were several things she’d rather not think about, so she asked her shadow: “So what are you? A demon who stole my face?”

“That would be great, wouldn’t it? Would give you quite a bit of deniability. ‘I’d never cut my father’s toes off, throw them away and leave him bleeding, bound to a tree!’, you can say. ‘That was just a demon.’ Bad news for you. If I’m a demon, I am _your_ demon; the demon within you. I am your darkness, Betty. I am those desires you have long denied. I am your truest self.”

Betty nodded. That was the answer she had expected.

“I don’t believe you”, she said. “Those… thoughts, ‘desires’, as you call them… they’re not really me. I’d never act on them.”

“Never?”, the shadow asked. Betty, unfortunately, knew exactly what she was referring to.

“Well. Not with people who don’t deserve it.”

“Oh, that’s interesting”, her shadow said. “Because I seem to recall you selfishly destroying three lives in one night. You knew what you were doing, the havoc you could wreak. And yet, you did it.”

Betty’s throat closed up. “That was different”, she said.

“Was it?”, her shadow asked and suddenly Betty was in Dilton’s bunker, trying to find her pants where are her pants, throwing on the first shirt she can grab, fuck that’s Archie’s shirt and then Veronica is there and everything freezes. Betty knows this moment. She’s lived it, replayed it in her mind, thought of the things she could have said, could have done, to have a different ending. But no matter what she came up with, the scenario always ended the same way: With Veronica leaving and Betty being alone.

 _You can keep her from leaving_ , her shadow whispers or are these her own thoughts? She gets up, unfreezes the moment. Veronica steps back.

“How _could_ you,” she whispers. Jughead had been the one to ask that, not Veronica. He should be here, he’s part of this memory. But this is not a memory. It’s a dream. A dream in which Betty is holding the Black Hood’s knife and Veronica is pressed against the wall and Betty grasps the knife tightly and rams it into her best friend’s chest, cutting away through the layers of skin and muscle until she can see it, beating away rapidly, pumping blood through her veins, through the cuts, onto the floor, soaking Veronica’s dress, Betty’s shirt, her naked legs. Veronica’s heart is beautiful. Like Veronica. Betty is mesmerised by it, its rhythm. A heart should not be laid bare like this, for the world to see.

“Betty”, Veronica whispers. Betty looks up. She shouldn’t be surprised at the tears in Veronica’s eyes. When one starts to fall, Betty raises her hand to carefully wipe it away. Her finger leaves a trail of blood on Veronica’s cheek and lingers.

“Oh Ronnie”, she says. “I am so sorry. I never-”

“What’s done is done.”

With surprising strength, Veronica grabs her hand and leads it to the gaping hole in her chest.

“Finish it.”

Betty feels the fragile heart, the beautiful heart, beating against her blood-stained hand as she slowly closes her fingers around it. She is still looking into Veronica’s eyes. There are no more tears. Instead, her gaze is ice, the same gaze that froze Betty in place not too long ago. She wants to stop but she can’t let go; now that she’s holding Veronica’s heart in her hand, how is she to ever let it go? She drops the knife, gently grasps the heart with both hands and pulls it out of Veronica’s chest.

Veronica doesn’t scream. She gasps, once, and falls, chest and mouth still open. Betty looks down at her friend’s lifeless body. She did this. She carved Veronica’s heart out. It looks different now, outside of that cage of bones it belongs in. Smaller. Betty strokes it as its beating stutters to a halt. On an impulse, instinct, she sinks her teeth into it, gorges herself on the flesh, warm blood deliciously running down her throat until it piles up, chokes her, makes it impossible for her to breathe. Betty coughs, her body screaming for air. Veronica’s revenge. Betty is never to draw a breath again. She’s dying, she will die, she has died, she died that night in the bunker when she broke Veronica’s heart.

She didn’t know she could lose consciousness in hell. When Betty woke up, she was back in the wasteland, her shadow looking down at her with a smile. It had been a hallucination. And yet, Betty could still taste the blood on her lips, could feel the last flutters of Veronica’s heart.

“This didn’t happen”, she said, voice raspy from all the coughing. “It didn’t happen like this.”

“Oh?”, her shadow asked. “You didn’t cut your best friend’s heart out, betrayed a girl who would have trusted you with her life, defended you until her dying breath? You know she’s been betrayed by her parents more times than she can count. And then you come in and-”

“I tried to…” Betty trailed off, tears in her eyes. 

“Tried to what?”, the shadow asked. “Fix it?”

She was back in Dilton’s bunker, the beating heart in her hand. It’s growing weak but it’s trying, desperately, to cling on to life.

 _If I can get it back_ , Betty thinks and falls to her knees next to the corpse. It won’t work. She can’t undo what she has done. But she has to try. She shoves the heart between the ribs. Closing the hole in Veronica’s chest is impossible but doing CPR with no buffer inbetween seems unwise, so Betty takes off the shirt, Archie’s shirt, soaked in Veronica’s blood, and places it over the wound. Then she starts pressing. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. As she counts her compressions, the tears begin to fall and Betty starts to whisper: “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t mean to.”

Didn’t she, though? She’d always known that this was a possibility, that she could do damage too big to be undone. Twenty-nine. Thirty. Overstretch the head. Breath. Breath. One. Two. Three. This was futile. The shirt was slipping and Betty was pressing into Veronica’s open chest now, breaking rips, squashing her heart. She couldn’t stop. She had to stop. But she couldn’t really make this worse now and she had to do something, anything, to keep the despair at bay. Her arms were getting tired. She felt as if the air around her wasn’t reaching her lungs but she had to keep on breathing because if she didn’t breathe neither did Veronica. _This is hell_ , she thought and kept going. She couldn’t give up, couldn’t stop. She was dimly aware that she was back in hell but the body, _Veronica_ , was still there so she had to keep going, switching between compressions and mouth to mouth. There was no chance of Veronica miraculously waking up. Betty had killed her best friend. But if she stopped now, if she stopped _trying_ , that meant that she accepted it, could just go on with her life. Her arms were buckling as Betty pressed them into the bloody mess that used to be Veronica’s heart again and again and again. Twenty-eight. Twenty-nine. Thirty. Breath. Breath. One. Two. Three. Four. 

“Betty!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap on the individual chapters! Next time, you'll get POV switches again but I wanted to give everyone their own personal hell first. I wouldn't be able to pick a favourite because all three of these chapters just vary a lot in their tone and mood. They were a lot of fun to write.
> 
> I'm super proud that I managed to post this week because uni started up again and I didn't really do anything for it during the holidays so I've got a ton of assignments and texts to read. Due to that, I _might_ not be able to keep the weekly updates up (definitely not 5000+ words per week.) but I'll try!
> 
> Thanks to everyone who's read this far, especially those of you who've commented. It is always exciting to hear what people think of my writing. If you want to reach me outside of AO3, I also have a [writeblr](https://writtelings.tumblr.com/)!


	12. i will sleep when we reach shore (and pray we get there soon)

The hellucination was more of a nuisance now than anything else; he was, of course, keen to remind Veronica of everything she’d learned in the maze. Without the iron hold of truth, though, his statements lost some of their impact. It seemed to be a struggle for him not to lie, try as he might. An embellishment here, a detail left out there, and Veronica could cushion herself within a menagerie of half-truths again. She pretended to still be distraught, to listen; sometimes, she even engaged in conversation with him. Her mind, though, was trained on only one thing: Finding Betty. What had her (former?) friend gone through down here? What sins had she been confronted with? Was she safe? As Veronica pondered on Betty and their relationship, she noticed a lull in the conversation. Apparently the hellucination was done with whatever he’d been waffling on about. Silence was dangerous; silence could lead to boredom on the hellucination’s part. And if he was anything like her father, she definitely didn’t want him to get bored.

Veronica looked around the wasteland. Apart from stone pillars and unnerving heat, there was not much there.

“I expected more to be honest”, she said. “In regard to the interior design. This is hell, after all. Where are the rivers of lava? The demons flying around? The chaos? All you’ve got is brimstone and actual stone as far as the eye can see.”

“Maybe the parts of hell you are led through reflect your inner state of mind”, the hellucination said. He was trailing a few steps behind her. She’d quickly discovered that his preferred walking speed was a dignified saunter. At first, he’d kept up with her quick pace but after a while, he hadn’t bothered anymore. Maybe he was getting tired, tired of this, of her. She didn’t know if that was a good thing.

“...all but vivid”, he finished up. Veronica stopped. A sound. Not their footsteps or stones tumbling down other stones. Not even moans of suffering. Someone was crying, sobbing, hyperventilating. Carefully, Veronica walked into the direction of the sound.

“So it stands to reason that-”

“Shh!”

There were two figures on the ground and Veronica recognised both at a glance. That ponytail, though it had seen better days, could only belong to one person, as could the outfit of the figure on the ground. Veronica remembered it well; she’d burned that dress and that cape when she’d gotten home on the night she’d discovered Archie’s and Betty’s betrayal. Veronica called out to Betty and started to run towards her when a familiar wind picked up around her and Betty disappeared in a cloud of smoke.

“You will not ‘shh’ me, young lady!”, the hellucination said. Or was it her father? Was this part of the vision? Whatever the case, Veronica didn’t have time for this. Betty was in distress just a few feet ahead and Veronica was trapped. Usually, the fog cleared up within seconds, revealing the scene. This time, though, it lingered. Something was different.

“Let me out”, Veronica demanded calmly. “Please.”

The hellucination appeared before her. “Miss Lodge has found her manners, I see.”

“If you don't let me get back to Betty I will show you some manners”, Veronica said. The hellucination didn't even bat an eyebrow.

“I could keep you here forever, you know? Torture you with memories, some true, some fake, until you yourself won’t know what happened anymore.”

Veronica took a deep breath. This was a negotiation. Business in its purest form. Sure, the stakes were high, but Veronica had never been one to cower from a challenge. She just had to find out what he wanted.

“You’re not going to do that”, Veronica said.

The hellucination smirked. “And why not? Seems like a fun pastime.”

Veronica shrugged. “For a while, sure. You can drag me back to that maze, torture me with truths. Uncover all of Daddy’s little crimes, make me relive one of the worst nights of my life. You can point out my hypocrisy, my wilful ignorance. How nearly everything wrong with my life is my own fault. But, be honest. Wouldn’t that get boring? Hitting the same buttons, over and over again?”

“Now that you put it like that…”, the hellucination said. “But I could always just move on to physical torture.”

“A little derivative, don’t you think?”

The hellucination laughed. A good sign.

“Derivative. That’s a good one. So you think I should let you go, just like that?”

“Of course not”, Veronica said. “I’m a business woman. _Quid pro quo_. Since you love truths so much, I will give you one for my freedom. And my anchor for some new clothes. From the looks of it, B’s in dire need of them.”

“You truly are a Lodge through and through.”

Veronica smiled. He was right. She was a Lodge. She would always be a Lodge. And unlike the Lodges before her, she’d be better. In hell, she’d realised that there was no use in running from her past. She had to transform it, turn the Lodge name into something she could be proud of. If everything went according to plan she would inherit substantial parts of Lodge Industries shortly after her return to Riverdale. What better time to claim her name and make a change?

“Do we have a deal?”, she asked.

The hellucination cocked his head. “Depends. Are you going to give me your real anchor or just those cat ears?”

“Both.”

“Well in that case, Miss Lodge, you have found yourself a deal.”

They shook hands. Veronica disentangled the cat ears from her hair. Giving them away was painful; they’d been a gift of friendship. Who knew what this creature would do with them? Once they were in the hellucination’s grasp, Veronica opened her purse and took the pearl necklace out. She loathed its sight, loathed everything it stood for, detested the person she became when she wore it. And yet, when it came to material items binding her to the mortal realm, this pearl necklace was the obvious choice. It felt heavy in her hand as she gave it to the hellucination wearing her father’s face. Her heart beat sunk when his hands closed around the necklace. She knew she would never wear pearls again. This had been the easy part. As Veronica spoke the truth, it settled into the core of her being. No matter how tempted she might be in the future, she’d never be able to cover this one up with lies. Now and forever, she would know.

The fog dissolved. Betty was still kneeling on the ground in nothing but her underpants, pressing down into Veronica’s body. She’d stopped crying, instead she was counting under her breath. Her arms were buckling and Veronica asked herself how long Betty had been doing this. Once again, she called out Betty’s name; this time, she could run to her and wrap her into a hug. 

“No, I can’t, I have to-”

Betty tried to wriggle free, get back to her futile pursuit.

“Betty”, Veronica said. “I am here. I am fine. That-”

She looked at the corpse with the bloody, mangled hole in its chest. Hopefully, Veronica’s life would end differently.

“- is nothing but one of hell’s machinations. I’m fine, Betty.”

Betty stopped struggling and looked at Veronica, gaze unfocused as if her mind was still kneeling over the body, desperately trying to bring it back to life. She looked confused, lost, vulnerable.

“I…”

She trailed off. There was only one thing Veronica could do: She pulled Betty closer and held her. For a while, nothing happened. Then, Betty started crying again, sobs ripping through her body as she gripped Veronica tightly.

“I’m sorry”, she whispered. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Veronica stroked her hair and tried to let her know that it was okay.

Even after Betty had calmed down and was no longer clinging to Veronica for dear life, they held each other wordlessly. They might have stayed like that for all of eternity, two figures embracing in hell, if it hadn’t been for Hiram’s voice saying: “You made up with the traitor, I presume?”

Betty shot up at once, knife in her hand.

“How did _he_ get her?”, she asked. In a moment, she was transformed; no longer helpless and forlorn, she now stood strong. Her voice was pure hatred.

Veronica didn’t really know where to look when she replied: “It’s not really him. He’s a hellucination, just like the version of me you killed.”

Betty turned towards her with narrowed eyes. “How do I know _you’re_ not a 'hellucination'?”

Veronica was too distracted by Betty’s get-up to think of an answer. Even if she had been over her persistent crush on Betty, seeing her basically naked, bathed in blood and threatening her father with a knife would have sent Veronica’s mind into a bit of a spin.

Fortunately for her, the hellucination laughed. “As fun as this is, I have a deal to keep. Have fun proving you’re a real girl, Pinocchio!”

He put the clothes he’d been carrying down, turned around and sauntered away. Veronica blinked. She’d expected some sort of trick, a double-cross. But apparently the truth had been quite valuable.

Betty looked down at the clothes and back at Veronica. She was still holding the knife, ready to attack. Veronica wouldn’t be able to get many coherent sentences out with Betty looking as distracting as she did, so she picked up the pile and asked: “Even if I was a hellucination, wouldn’t you rather face me dressed?”

That seemed to make Betty conscious of the state she was in for the first time. Veronica respectfully averted her gaze.

“Yes”, Betty said. She sounded tired. “Thank you.”

* * *

Jughead had gotten out of the maze without much trouble. He never looked back. He simply ran towards his goal. Satan’s Throne Room. He didn’t know whether Penny was close behind him but he didn’t dare to check. He didn’t have the time. He had to get to Satan’s Throne Room. His mind had one track and he didn’t allow for it to wander. Even when he ran by a familiar spot, stones still bloody from his fall, Jughead ignored it. The feelings raging in his heart didn’t matter; the ache spreading with every thump, the sliver of foolish hope, the fear, the things he could not name… none of them mattered. He shut them up, shoved them down and ran. If he slowed down for even a moment, Penny could catch up to him. Worse yet, his thoughts would catch up. Jughead didn’t know whether he could survive either.

* * *

“Can’t you just… believe me?”, Veronica asked.

Betty had tried different approaches to figure out whether Veronica was real or not but all had failed. Asking questions didn’t get them anywhere because a hellucination, a duplicate, would know everything Veronica did. The missing anchor was no surefire way, after all, Betty herself had lost her scarf. Veronica basically looking like she had when they’d last seen each other while Betty looked like she’d been through hell could also easily be explained: She was Veronica. Of course she still looked great. There was dust all over her clothes and bloodstains where Betty had clung to her but her heels were still intact and not a hair on her head looked out of place. She looked tired. A sign that it was really her? Or simply a part of the illusion?

Maybe “Veronica” being friendly, not bringing up the fact that she’d found Betty kneeling over her body, arms buried in its ribcage, was all plan of some devilish plan. And maybe it wasn’t. The real Veronica, Betty’s best friend, her other half, her _missing_ half, wouldn't ask Betty uncomfortable questions, especially not right now.

Betty wanted this to be real, wanted Veronica to be real. That’s why she couldn’t trust her instincts. Her gut said that this was no hellucination, that her friend had truly found her. But was it simply saying what Betty wanted to hear? This was giving her a headache. She needed to decide what she wanted to believe soon. Whether it was true or not was a different question.

Veronica was still looking at her, waiting for an answer.

“Maybe”, Betty said. “For now.”

Veronica smiled and all doubt was wiped from Betty’s mind. The smile was like a spark in the darkness that was hell; only the real Veronica could shine this brightly. Betty smiled back.

“So”, Veronica said when they walked on. “On our way to meet the Dark Lord. Again.”

“At least this time it won’t be in Dilton’s bunker”, Betty joked. Veronica didn’t laugh. “Too soon?”

“Maybe a little.”

It almost felt like old times. Like that night had never happened. That would be great, wouldn’t it? If Veronica could just find Betty in bed with Archie, find her with her arms buried in Veronica’s chest, and forgive her. Without any question, any conversation. If anyone could do that, it would be Veronica, she supposed. Her icy grudges simply melted away after a while. Eventually, though, the past would catch up with them. Any peace founded on silence was fragile, uncertain, and could break at any moment. So Betty decided not to take the easy way out.

“It was only one time”, she said into the silence between them, as if that mattered. “It should never have happened. And… I am so, so sorry, V. I could spend the rest of my life apologising to you and it would never be enough. I hurt you and not a day went by that I didn’t think about the pain in your eyes. You… don’t have to forgive me. I just wanted you to know how sorry I am.”

It took a while until Veronica answered. She was looking down at the ground, avoiding Betty’s eyes.

“If my time in hell has taught me anything it’s that I’ve forgiven way worse. I’ve _done_ worse. And… I want you in my life again, Elizabeth.”

Finally, she raised her gaze. “We’re meant to be.”

At that moment, something shifted within Betty; a quintessential piece of her self fell into place. Veronica looked at her, a kind smile on her lips, and Betty wanted nothing more than to lean forward and kiss her. The magnetic pull, she realised, wasn’t new. It had been there for a while. She didn’t know how long or how she hadn't noticed it before. It didn’t matter, though, because now that she felt it, she felt other things too; her whole body wanted to crash into Veronica’s, to hold her tight and never let go. Instead, she smiled back and took Veronica’s hand.

“I love you, Ronnie”, she said. She’d said it so many times before. Now, though, it felt different, almost thrilling.

“Love you too, B.”

For the first time, Betty understood the nervous flutter in her stomach.

* * *

“JUGGY BOY!”

Fuck. Penny wasn’t very close yet but she was catching up. Jughead had been running for so long now he’d almost forgotten why. He’d considered granting his tired legs a rest before they gave out from under him. That was no longer an option.

“Can’t outrun your destiny, Jughead!”, Penny shouted.

Jughead didn’t answer. He should have taken a break. It was his own stupid fault that he hadn’t. He was in no condition to fight. His injuries had healed by now but his limbs were heavy, getting slow. The way he saw it there were two options: Running until he collapsed or fighting. Jughead didn’t believe in God but when he stopped running and turned to face Penny, he prayed for someone, anyone, to come to his aid.

* * *

Something had changed. Veronica couldn't quite name it yet but something was different between them. Sure, they talked with ease and walked side by side, sometimes hand in hand, but it felt… new. It could just be the vibes of hell. They were currently basically log-hopping over a great river of hellfire. Not necessarily Veronica’s definition of fun

“This may sound weird”, Veronica said when Betty steadied her on the next stone platform looking out from the river. “But hell is nicer with you around.”

“Agreed. And you’re much better company than my dad.”

Veronica blinked. “A hellucination or…?”

Betty shook her head. “No, the real deal. My dad’s a serial killer, Veronica. Of course he’s in hell.”

That made sense. Still, it felt weird.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

“Maybe once we’re over this river.”

Veronica nodded and jumped over to the next platform. Betty followed and held on to her for balance. This was one of the things Veronica had noticed: Betty was touching her more. It wasn’t like they hadn’t been tactile before but now it seemed like Betty took every opportunity she got and if she didn’t get any, she created them. Veronica wasn’t complaining but she would be very curious to know the reason. Maybe Betty was just looking for something or someone to hold on to, especially now that her anchor was gone.

When they’d made it over the river, they sat down at the edge to take a break. They had crossed three territories already and the smell of brimstone was growing ever-stronger. Veronica hoped that meant they were on the right track.

“So”, Veronica said. “Your dad.”

Betty shrugged. “I don’t know. It was… almost nice for some time. Until it wasn’t.”

Veronica nodded. Her dad might not be a serial killer but she could relate.

“My shadow-self stayed behind and mutilated him.”

Now _that_ she couldn’t relate to.

“Shadow-self?”

“Dark Betty. The part of myself that wants to… hurt people. The part with the genes.”

“The genes?”

Betty was staring into the river of hellfire but her mind was someplace else.

“I… carry the serial killer genes. Charles has them too. He… _manages_ them through his FBI work but I…”

She shook her head as if to rid herself of unpleasant recollections. 

“That’s why I dropped out.”

Veronica nodded. She didn't understand everything Betty was saying but she gathered that her friend mostly needed and open ear. And she could do that.

“I wonder where she went. My shadow, I mean. She disappeared after I…”

“...ripped my heart out, stuffed it back in and tried to give me CPR?”

“Yeah. That.”

Betty didn’t say anything for a while, still looking into the river. Veronica waited; she felt as if there was more to come.

“I just wonder… What if she’s back inside me?”

Betty turned to look at Veronica, gaze clear yet troubled. “ _She_ didn’t pull your heart out, _I_ did.”

Now that wouldn't do. Veronica would not sit by while Betty wallowed in self-loathing. She turned towards her friends and took both of her hands.

“Your father was a horrible person”, she said. “He tried to force you to shoot him at gunpoint, among other things. Whatever Dark Betty did to him… he deserved it. As for me… Well, you tried to fix it, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but…”

“No buts. You might have the genes but, Betty, you’re still _you_. Sweet, caring, a great friend.”

She pressed Betty’s hands before going on: “The B I know would never hurt me.”

Betty blinked and pulled away a little. “Veronica. I did.”

“I feel like there’s a slight difference between sleeping with my boyfriend and stabbing me.”

The laugh erupting from Betty’s mouth was the most beautiful sound in the world. It seemed the dark clouds had dissipated from her mind. At least for now.

“Speaking of my boyfriend, we do have somewhere to be.”

Veronica got up, dusted herself off and held her hand out to pull Betty up. She pulled so swiftly, though, that Betty all but fell into her. Veronica was still holding her hand, looking up into Betty’s eyes. And down at Betty’s lips. It would be easy, so easy, to lean forward just a little. But after their first kiss, Betty had never expressed any desire to repeat the experience. Unfortunately. So Veronica took a step back and let go. Even though it was almost unbearably hot in hell, Veronica missed the warmth of Betty’s hand in hers.

“Off to the Devil’s throne room we go”, Betty said. She didn’t move. Neither did Veronica. There was only one direction she _could_ move right now and it was towards Betty. Veronica opened her mouth to say something but somewhere between her mind and her mouth and Betty’s eyes, the words got lost. So Veronica just stood and stared. Same as Betty.

Veronica’s mind was going haywire, trying to come up with an explanation for this, an explanation other than “Betty isn’t as straight as I thought she was”. Because that was the obvious conclusion, wasn’t it? Betty was staring at her like this because she, too, wanted nothing more in this moment than to close the distance between them. But that couldn’t be. Because Betty was straight and Veronica had made her peace with that long ago.

The gunshot made them both fall to the ground to take cover.

“Did you think you could just walk away from me?”, Hal Cooper asked. “That I would just let you go?”

Great. Wonderful. Just what they needed. A crazy serial killer. Who happened to be Betty’s dad. A bullet flew over their heads. Veronica turned her head to look at the river of hellfire. Hal was already more than halfway across. If they ran they wouldn’t get far. And probably be hit by a bullet in the back.

“I am very disappointed in you, Betty.”

* * *

Their fight was short. Jughead gave his best but Penny was fueled by a burning thirst for vengeance. Even though she’d been running as long as Jughead she was actually dead. Which meant she no longer got tired. So, really, it was no surprise that Jughead found himself pinned to the floor shortly after Penny caught up with him. Her clothes were stiff, drenched in dried black blood. Jughead tried not to think about it, tried to come up with a way to get out of this mess.

“Your demon-friend put up quite the fight, I gotta admit that. Thought I’d lose a limp. Maybe my other eye. In the end, though, he was easier to kill than I thought. Wanna know how many hearts demons have?”

Each word was like a punch to his stomach. Jughead hoped his face was blank when he said: “I think that depends on the kind of demon, actually.”

Penny grinned. “Always a smart-ass. Maybe I should start by cutting out your tongue.”

_Oh no._

“But where would the fun in that be? No, you can keep your tongue for now. I want to see how long you’ll try to talk your way out of this one.”

Desperately, Jughead fished for something, _anything_ to say. His mind was blank. Well, that wasn’t true. His mind was pure chaos, in uproar. The panic he felt as Penny examined him, placed the knife here and there on his body as if to test the ground, made it impossible for Jughead to form coherent words.

“Are you gonna behave or will I have to tie you up?”, Penny asked.

“I’ll just lie here peacefully while you skin me, don’t worry!”, Jughead said. Stupid, stupid mouth with its stupid, stupid jokes.

Penny actually laughed. “See”, she said. “That’s why you’re keeping your tongue for now.”

Then, she took Jughead’s beanie from his head. So much for taking two anchors in case one got destroyed. His serpent jacket got shredded in his fall and now his trusted beanie was in the hands of Penny Peabody who was examining it methodically.

“This is knitted, right? Think I can unravel it enough to make restraints from it?”

“It’s pretty old”, Jughead said. “Not sure it would hold.”

“I think it’s worth a try”, Penny said and started to destroy the hat Betty had hand-knitted for him.

* * *

The tinge of regret Betty had felt only moments before was gone; Dark Betty should have decapitated her father and buried his head in those disgusting woods. Hell, Betty should have done that herself. He was _shooting_ at her, shooting at Veronica! She was relatively sure they wouldn’t die if they were hit but it would still fucking hurt. The anger rushing through Betty’s veins was as hot as the hellfire Hal was currently crossing. Clear as day, a plan formed in her mind. Once he reached the shore, she’d stab him with the knife. Then, when he looked down at the wound in surprise, she’d push him into the river. She didn’t know where souls went if they were killed in hell and she didn’t particularly care. He’d be gone and that was all that mattered. And he’d finally get what he wanted: A killer for a daughter.

“I never thought your weaknesses would extend this far”, Hal said now. Betty only had a vague idea what he was talking about. The rumbling in her ears drowned out most of his words. She looked over at Veronica, whose eyes were fixed on Hal. Would she judge Betty? Probably not. Would Betty end up down here again for patricide once her life was over? Probably. Well, at least Veronica would be here as well. They could spend eternity trying to find each other. Maybe, at the end of all days, they’d be reunited. Veronica didn’t look scared but then again, she rarely did. Hal had stopped shooting at them to concentrate on his monologue and his way across the river.

Veronica looked at Betty and Betty saw that she also had a plan. She looked almost sorry. When Hal took the last jump, they both got up in sync.

“Veronica Lodge”, Hal said. “You have tainted my daughter.”

“I have what?”

The confusion in Veronica’s demeanour was an expression of how Betty felt. What on earth was her father going on about now? It didn’t really matter, though. All that mattered was his time of second death. Before she lost her resolve. Betty held the knife tightly, closed the distance between her and Hal, and stabbed him in the stomach. Not lethal at once and probably not lethal in hell but definitely painful.

As predicted, Hal looked down at the wound in shock.

“You stabbed me!”, he said.

“Yes”, Betty replied and was just about to push him backwards when Veronica called out: “Betty, stop!”

Betty turned towards her friend, saw her pained expression.

“You can’t do this”, Veronica said and came closer.

The reply died on Betty’s lips when she suddenly felt the bloody knife on her throat and her father’s arms around her body in a cruel mockery of an embrace.

“One step closer and I will jump. _We_ will jump.”

Veronica stopped in her tracks. If her and Betty reached out their hands at the same time they’d be able to touch.

“What do you want, dad?”, Betty asked. A dangerous question. But one that might release her.

Hal sounded astonished when he said: “What I want, Betty? I told you. I want you to stay with me, in the forest. We could build ourselves a life down here.”

Veronica pulled a face that mirrored Betty’s.

“Your so-called friends… they never deserved you, Betty. You have shown me what you really are. The darkness within. Let me harness it, nurture it, so it may consume all that is light.”

It was a little weird to have these words almost whispered into her ear with a knife at her throat. During his small monologue, though, Hal relaxed his grip and that was all Betty needed. With trained movements, she freed herself and put distance between them. A splash. An agonised scream. The smell of burning meat, burning hair, seeping into her nostrils, even more pungent than the ever-present sulfur. When Betty turned around only a moment later, Veronica was standing at the edge of the river, looking down into the stream. Her face was hard and cold. She looked like a stranger, a stranger capable of unspeakable crimes.

“What…?”, Betty asked.

“I pushed him”, Veronica said. “Into the hellfire”, she added when Betty didn’t say anything.

“Thank you.”

The coldness on Veronica’s face was replaced with relief.

“No need to thank me”, she said. “Really. Please don’t. It’s just… I know how it is to live with the things you have done. It’s hard and you’d be doing worse than me because you’re simply better than me.”

Betty found that it was impossible for her to put into words what she was feeling. There was no way to tell Veronica what this meant to her. She remembered pushing her father away when she escaped his grasp. And yet, she didn’t know if that had made him plummet into the river. Maybe she had killed him. Maybe Veronica had. That uncertainty would become a comfort and Veronica was aware of that. _You’re simply better than me._ How could that be true when Veronica was one of the best people Betty knew? She wanted to say all that and more. But words weren’t enough, would never be enough. So she took Veronica’s hand and led her away from the river’s edge and the smell of her dead father’s corpse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back babey! The term's coming to a close which means I'm writing again. I hope y'all are doing alright and that you liked this chapter. If you did, comments and kudos are a great way to show me that.
> 
> I can't promise to be back next week but I'll try :D


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